


Stay the Night

by Ruby J (rubygirl29)



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Blindness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/Ruby%20J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vin is blinded by a flash grenade thrown by Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay the Night

**Author's Note:**

> One of my M7 fics that seems to have lost its old home. Apologies for the funky formatting of italics. My old WP program and AO3 seem to have differences of opinion. An (*) indicates italics in some cases. In others, the HTML seems to work. Sigh ...

**Part One**

 

_The blare of sirens split the night like a knife. Semaphore flashing, an ambulance screamed through the streets, slowing marginally at intersections, then picking up speed as the driver expertly dodged traffic on the way to Denver’s Mercy General Hospital. The vehicle swept into the driveway and up to the covered entrance to the ER. Medical personnel wearing winter coats over their green scrubs hurried out of the hospital as the ambulance halted. The driver sprang from the cab, opened the doors of the bay, and helped the EMT’s slide the stretcher out onto a gurney. The patient was muffled in blankets, strapped down; face obscured by an oxygen mask and white gauze. Efficient, hurried, the EMT’s wheeled the gurney through the glass doors and whisked the patient into a treatment room where the restraints were released and the lax body transferred from the stretcher onto the treatment bed._

_The patient was a white male, average height, slender build. GSW to the right upper quadrant of the chest, possibly involving the lung. Possible chemical burns to the eyes and facial area from a flash grenade. Vital signs were better than expected. BP low, but pulse and respiration steady. He was regaining consciousness even as they were working over him._

_The charge nurse was stripping him down, cutting off clothing: dark blue jacket, dark long-sleeved T-shirt, blue jeans. She started going through the pockets and pulled out a slim leather wallet. “Shit!” she said, making the doctor look up from her work._

_“What?”_

_“Dr. Stone, he’s an ATF agent. Vin Tanner.”_

_The doctor took another look at the patient beneath the bandages. “Again?” She sighed and went to work._

*********************  
Things had gone wrong, horribly wrong, and Chris Larabee held himself to blame. Buck could see it in his eyes as they waited in the ER for word on Vin’s condition. Larabee was the team leader, the logistics of the raid were his responsibility; but there was no way he was responsible for the trap they had walked into -- hell, AD Travis was apologizing to Chris for the faulty intelligence that had resulted in disaster. One Treasury agent dead, another agent and Vin Tanner wounded. One suspect in custody, one in custody of the Almighty. And a gang scattered through the streets of Denver, waiting to replicate like a loathsome cancer. Yeah, it was a fucking mess all right, but none of it was Chris Larabee’s fault.

Buck wished Josiah and Nathan were there; both men had a way of easing the guilt Chris laid on himself, but they had returned to the office to do damage control with the rest of the team and Orrin Travis. Larabee was hunched over, elbows braced on his knees, his fingers twined so tightly that his knuckles were white. Those intense green eyes were focused on the double doors leading to the treatment area, and Buck pitied the next person to come into that line of fire. He laid a sympathetic hand on Larabee’s back. “Wasn’t your fault, Chris. Vin’ll know that.”

“Will he?” Buck flinched when Chris aimed that gaze at him, and when he couldn’t reply for a certainty, he looked away. “Goddamn it, Buck. Did you see his eyes?”

“I saw. But that don’t mean anything, Chris. Ya know they gotta flush ‘em out and bandage ‘em up even if there ain’t anything wrong -- just as a precaution.”

As much as Chris appreciated Buck’s attempt to assuage his guilt and worry, there was little he could say that would keep the vision of Vin’s still body, blood soaking his dark shirt, his bruised face, and swollen eyes, at bay. Chris opened his hands and stared at them. “Buck, what if it’s my bullet in him? What if that damn flash-bang I threw took away his sight? How’s he gonna understand that!”

“Chris, y’ain’t Superman. Y’ain’t got X-ray vision t’see through concrete walls ‘n steel doors.”

“I should have known!” His voice was rough with pain, coming from a throat that was so tight that it hurt to speak. “*I* should have known...”

Buck sighed and rubbed Chris’s shoulder. Chris took it hard when any member of his team was injured. Twice as hard when that man was Vin Tanner. Buck shook his head. Didn’t help that Tanner was the most injury-prone of the group. Hell, Junior was the one willing to take the most risks, the one dancing around rooftops, the one so certain of his own skills that he would take chances any sane person would consider suicide. And next to Ezra, the one who did the most undercover work; but whereas Standish’s undercover assignments involved brains and slick maneuvers, Tanner’s required infiltrating the lowest, most brutal circles of the criminal element. Shit, if Mercy General ran on frequent flier miles, Vin’s insurance wouldn’t have to pay a cent for the next hundred years!

But Chris _would_ beat himself up about it ... Buck sighed heavily and gripped Chris’s shoulder. “Old pard, I know Vin’s like a brother --”

Chris’s head came up, green eyes hollow. “Thanks, Buck.” It was all he said, but Buck felt like there were words out there that Larabee wasn’t speaking. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what they were.

Buck unfolded his long legs. “I’m gonna get some coffee. You want some?”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t, but at least Buck would walk away from all the raw emotion that Chris had to hold dammed up inside. Buck didn’t know. He couldn’t know the truth of the relationship between Chris and Vin Tanner. Vin was more than a colleague, more than a friend, more than a brother. He was the other half of Chris’s soul. He was his lover.

His lover.

Even as he thought it, the incredulity of it made him shiver. It was a complicated dance he and Vin were doing: a tough balance of emotion, logic, passion, and hard-nosed reality. Josiah and Nathan had been the first to understand that the psychological bond between Vin and Chris had turned into something deeper and more complex. Neither would judge them for the paths their hearts had taken. Nathan sometimes seemed to struggle with the fact that his boss and his friend were sleeping together, but he knew better than any of them how fragile life was, how easily lost. He wouldn’t begrudge them their feelings even if he didn’t always understand them. 

Josiah said that love was love -- he didn’t believe that God would give us the capacity to feel and express it, only to tell us our hearts were wrong. Chris knew the big man was watching out for them; praying that this love they had found wouldn’t hurt them more than either had already been hurt. Chris found that immensely comforting.

Ezra seemed to absorb the truth by osmosis and didn’t blink an eye. Relentless pragmatist and dedicated sensualist that Standish was, Chris was certain the southerner had found physical gratification, if not love, with a variety of partners, and in ways that would leave him and Vin in the dust. The thought made him smile slightly, a softening of that hard face that made the nurse coming from the treatment area catch her breath.

“M-Mr. Larabee?” she stammered a bit, and blushed.

He uncoiled, long and lean, and she looked up at him and retreated a step. “You can come back now.” He brushed past her, not rudely, but not as if he actually saw her standing there. Dr. Elizabeth Stone stood there in bloody scrubs, pulling her surgical mask from his face. 

“How is he?” Chris rasped. 

Dr. Stone sighed. She read every nuance of guilt and worry on Chris’s face, and tried to reassure him. “Good, actually. We were able to get the bullet out without surgery. His lung sounds good, so we don’t think it was nicked by the bullet.”

Chris nodded, not revealing the enormous weight that had been lifted from his shoulders. A darker shadow still remained. “What about his eyes?”

“Dr. Rheinhardt is examining him now. She’s one of the best Ophthalmologists in town. Agent Tanner is in good hands.”

Chris nodded. “You mind if I stay here instead of going back to the waiting room?”

“It might be a while. Dr. Rheinhardt will let you know when she’s finished.” She seemed about to say something else when her pager buzzed. “Damn!” she muttered and when Chris paled, she had the heart to explain, “Six car pile-up. Victims headed here. Doesn’t death *ever* take a holiday?” She turned and walked away. 

Chris paced the hallway, then moved closer to the treatment room as the curtains were pulled back and the glass door slid open. A slender, gray-haired woman emerged, tucking an ophthalmoscope back into her pocket. She nearly ran into Chris, stopped and frowned up at him. “Can I help you?”

“Dr. Rheinhardt?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Chris Larabee, Agent Tanner’s team leader. How he’s doing?”

She tilted her head. “Are you family?”

That damn question. “No. But I’m as close to family as he’s got. I’m listed as next of kin on his records, if you need to check it.”

She shook her head. “I wish I had more to tell you, then.”

Chris’s heart seemed to sink to his stomach. “Is he ... can he see?”

“He can distinguish light and dark. Right now, the flesh around his eyes is very swollen and irritated. It’s hard to make a determination as to the extent of damage until the swelling goes down. I’d say another day or so.” She folded her arms, looked down at her shoes, then back at him. “There are some corneal abrasions ...”

“God.” Chris’s stomach sank to his boots. “Do you know what he does for a living?”

“ATF agent?”

“He’s a sharpshooter, a marksman. A goddamned sniper!” An enormous rage tore through Chris. “His vision is his life, so I’m not asking you an idle question here, doctor. I _need_ to know.”

Dr. Rheinhardt set her hand on Chris’s arm. “You aren’t listening, Mr. Larabee. I said there were some abrasions -- and I *expect* them to heal. There are no absolutes, but I believe he will recover without any visual impairment.”

“Give me a percentage.” Chris knew he sounded desperate; could hear the plea in his voice. 

“Give me forty-eight hours.” Her shoulders lifted in a tired shrug. 

“Will he have to stay here?” 

“You’ll have to ask his doctor. There’s no reason why he has to be here longer than overnight as far as his eye injury is concerned.” Her pager beeped and she sighed. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, and walked away from him.

Chris stood looking after her. He thrust his hands in his jeans pocket and stared at the treatment room door, wondering where he would find the courage to go in there and talk to Vin. He had to find it, or else he wasn’t worthy of the man behind that door. As he set his hand on the door frame, a muffled cry from inside made his heart stutter. “Vin!” he answered and rushed inside.

******************

He’d known, even before consciousness had broken over him in a wave of pain, that he was in a bad way. Panic when he couldn’t move, when he couldn’t open his eyes. Then hands holding him down, restraints tied around his wrists, not tightly, but tight enough to bind him until he understood that he was safe, that he had to be still and quiet. He had lain there, panting and trembling like a frightened animal until they had shot him with some sort of tranquilizing drug that had settled his body, but not his mind. He had questions: Where was he? Were any of his teammates injured? Why couldn’t he see? That was the last one he asked, as if he were afraid to hear the answer. Afraid that they were afraid to give him the answer.

They had talked to him. Elizabeth Stone’s familiar voice in the darkness. She explained what they were doing and why. They had cut the bullet out of him. They had given him painkillers to dull the agony. They had flushed out his eyes and applied soothing salves to his skin so it didn’t feel like it was on fire. And then they had left him in the dark.

He could feel the panic rising in him, remembering other darkness, other pain. Why was he alone? He sat up, heedless of IV lines, of the deep ache in his shoulder, of the sudden, fierce stab of hurt behind his bandaged eyes. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop his heart from beating in his chest like a frightened bird. He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed and banged his knee painfully on the bed rail. He cried out, half in startlement, half from the fear that surged from the loss of control. He tried to take in air, but his chest felt like a brick, his throat like a noose was tied around it and being drawn tight. 

“Vin!” Warm, strong hands on his shoulders, the tender, whiskey-rough voice brushing his cheek. The scent and feel of Chris ... Vin fought to contain the small, hitching sob before it broke loose and unmanned him. He fell forward into Chris’s arms and was gathered tightly against his chest. The hands he loved smoothed his hair, stroked his throat until the tightness eased and he could breathe again. “S’all right. I got ya, pard. It’s all right,” the beloved voice continued and Vin sank into that embrace.

“Chris?”

“None other.” Chris laid his cheek against Vin’s hair and closed his eyes. He could feel Tanner’s heart shivering against his chest. “Jesus, Vin. Your heart’s goin’ a mile a minute. Ya gotta settle down, all right?” He continued speaking softly, using his hands to express his concern, to calm and reassure. Eventually that light, terrified heartbeat slowed to a more normal rhythm. “That’s better,” he said, relieved that Tanner was calming down. “Lay back down, now.”

Vin sighed and let Chris settle him back against his pillows. His hands reached toward the bandages swathing his eyes, and Chris caught his wrists gently. “Leave ’em be.” Chris lightly stroked the back of his knuckles against Tanner’s throat, feeling the struggle to suppress emotion in the working of the muscles beneath his touch.

“Cain’t see, Chris.”

“I know. I talked to Dr. Rheinhardt.”

“What if --” 

Chris silenced him with a draw of his thumb across his lips. “No what ifs, Vin. We got forty-eight hours to wait and see. It’ll be all right.”

No doubt in Larabee’s voice. Vin raised his hand touched Chris’s stubbled cheek. “Cain’t stand the thought ‘a not seein’ you again.”

Tears filled Chris’s eyes. He held Vin’s hand against his face and let him feel the tears as the spilled over. “You will. You will.” 

Vin sighed contentedly, wearily, and clasped his fingers around Chris’s. “Gotta b’lieve that.” He couldn’t bear thinking of what the rest of his life would be like without sight -- no job, no future, just darkness. Couldn’t expect folks to keep him in their lives when his own would be limited. The only thing he could admit was his fear that he wouldn’t be able to see Chris again, that the image of Chris would grow as faint and faded as the image of his dead mother. Not all the love in the world could bring those colors back to life.

Chris looked down at their entwined fingers. Vin’s were tanned, slender, fine-boned. His own were not quite as bronzed, but long and agile, strong. The hands of a man who worked hard. Those hands had thrown that goddammed grenade that could cost Vin his sight, and perhaps his life. Chris wanted to say those words. He wanted to get down on his knees and beg Vin’s absolution; but that was an indulgence he wouldn’t ask, not when Vin didn’t have the strength to give rein to the anger he deserved for his careless action. Vin deserved that anger, and Chris deserved to bear the brunt of it. With his free hand, he brushed the brown hair back from Vin’s forehead. His skin was damp, cool, and Chris bent to set his lips there.

“Guess I gotta stay here tonight,” Vin murmured drowsily.

“Reckon so. Vin, I’m gonna tell Buck to go home. He can update the guys.”

“Ya leavin’, too?”

“No. I’m not leaving.” He gave Vin a gentle kiss. “I’ll be back.”

He found Buck slouched in a chair, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. He looked exhausted, and Buck *never* looked exhausted. Good thing mirrors weren’t standard equipment in waiting rooms. Chris sat down next to Buck and touched his shoulder. Wilmington opened a bleary blue eye, then groaned and sat up. “You were gone long enough.”

“Looks like chasin’ all the nurses finally got to you. You’re gettin’ old.”

Buck scrubbed his hands over his face. “Ya know it ain’t the years, Larabee. It’s the --”

“The miles,” Chris grinned. “Yeah, Indy.” He dropped a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Go home, go to bed, and get some rest.”

“How’s Junior?”

Chris told him the good news first, then the more sober news about Vin’s eyes. “Forty-eight hours, Dr. Rheinhardt said.”

“She say anything else?”

“He can distinguish light and dark. She says that’s a good sign.”

“Well, then. We’ll jist keep on prayin’. C’mon, you c’n stay at my place tonight.”

Chris shook his head. “I ain’t leavin’ him, Buck.”

“It ain’t like he’s a kid. And you don’t look too hot yourself.”

“I’m staying.” Chris’s tired face took on a stubborn set, and Buck gave him a hard study.

“What’s goin’ on here, Chris? You’re not telling me something.”

God. Not tonight. He couldn’t face telling Buck tonight. “Nothing’s ‘going on’. Listen, Buck. You know Vin. He hates hospitals. His eyes are bandaged up, and he’s not sure he’s ever gonna see again. Now, that would scare the bejesus out of me. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be alone. Would you?”

“N-noo ...” Buck agreed.

“I’d do the same for you,” Chris said.

Buck knew he would. He’d do the same for any of his team, but maybe not for the same reasons. There were layers in Chris Larabee that Buck had never managed to plumb; the man he knew was not the same as the man who was Sarah’s husband, or Adam’s father, or Vin’s ... Vin’s what? Was there a word for that linkage of mind and heart that they shared? If there was, Buck didn’t know it. 

“I’ll tell the others. You give Vin my best. Tell him we’re all thinkin’ of him.”

“I will.” Chris gave his oldest friend a tired smile. “Thanks, Buck.”

“For a cold cup of coffee?” Buck grinned and set his cowboy hat on his head. He tipped the brim, ambled off. Chris watched him out the door then returned to the treatment area just as they were wheeling Vin out of the cubicle.

He was sitting up, his fingers clenched so tight on the rails that the bones showed white, and the rest of him likely as tense. Chris caught up to him, laid his hand over that knotted fist. “Thought you could make a quick getaway, cowboy?”

Relief flooded Vin’s body, and a smile showed briefly. “They ain’t as quiet as I’d like,” he said. “Got a few things t’learn.” It was a thin joke at best, but Chris didn’t move his hand, and that was all right, too. It seemed to take forever for the aides to settle him in his room, fussing and fiddling with IV’s and bandages, just about driving him wild. Chris’s constant presence was the only thing that kept him level, and, when at last they were gone, he was exhausted. The bandages over his eyes only intensified the feeling of being closed in too tight. He tried to imagine a space around him, but sensed instead, how near the walls were, how small the room, and how vulnerable he was. 

Then the rail next to him was lowered, and Chris’s arm slid around his shoulders. His body touched all along the length of Vin’s; chest, hip, thigh. leg. Vin sank down wearily. His shoulder hurt like the devil, but it was worth it to have Chris near. He reached up, his fingers tracing Larabee’s face gently. “Ya don’t have ta stay, Chris. I’ll be all right.”

Chris laughed softly. “You’re sayin’ you’d rather I drive an hour out to the ranch, lay down in that big empty bed, worry about you all night long, then drive back here at the crack of dawn? I don’t think so, partner.”

Despite his exhaustion, pain, and fear, Vin chuckled. “Cain’t have that, I reckon.”

That chuff of laughter, weak as it was, did Chris’s heart a world of good. He shifted to cushion the length of Vin’s body more comfortably. “Warm enough?” he asked.

“Mmmm. Always warm s’long as yer holdin’ me,” he murmured. 

“I won’t let go,” Chris said, his breath stirring Vin’s hair. He felt the slim body relax against his, the head tilt drowsily on his shoulder, Vin’s respiration grew deep and slow. He closed his eyes and uttered a prayer; a man who never prayed, who had lost his faith, but still felt that there had to be some spirit watching over Vin, just as he believed Sarah was watching over him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, beyond caring if anyone saw them. If a man couldn’t hold a friend who was hurting, then the world was a cold place.

A nurse came in several hours later to take Vin’s vital signs. She paused momentarily to gaze down at the two men; the lanky blond and the young man with the bandaged eyes he cradled in his arms, both sleeping. She was reminded of the War Memorial in Philadelphia’s 30th Street train station, a statue of an angel holding a fallen soldier; terrible, beautiful, and compassionate. It always made her cry. She blinked away her tears, took her patient’s blood pressure and temperature. He stirred and drew in a quick breath as if he might awaken. Then, seemingly reassured by the presence of the blond man, sleep reclaimed him. The nurse gently brushed her hand over his hair, touched his shoulder, and left the room as quietly as she had entered.

**********************  
 **Part Two**

*Dark. Despite the tiny beam of illumination shed by the closed iris of his Maglite, Chris couldn’t see beyond the length of his arm. The headset and microphone he wore picked up the harsh sounds of his own breath, and the tense, whispered exchanges between the other members of the combined ATF teams making their way through the maze of rooms in the vacant office complex and warehouse. They were invisible to each other, showing up only as pale, glowing points of light on the sensor screens in the vans outside. Guided by the voices in their ears telling them where they would find other glowing points of light that were not ATF agents. He heard Buck’s voice informing him that they were behind him. 

How could they tell friend from foe? The thought raced across Chris’s mind as the disembodied voice in his ear grew suddenly charged with excitement. “Suspicious indicator to your right, Leader Seven.” That meant him. Shit. Chris’s heart rate soared as adrenaline shot through him.

“On the move! On the move! Heading your way!”

“Where!” Chris spoke urgently. “Jesus!” He felt a sudden brush of air against his right cheek, sensed a doorway or passage. 

“He’s to your right, Leader Seven! Right, right!”

A prickle of rising hair teased the back of his neck. His hand went to the small grenade, called a flash-bang, clipped to his belt. It wasn’t meant to destroy, but to blind and confuse a subject in close quarters. He pulled the pin, lobbed the grenade into the darkness, flattened himself against a wall and closed his eyes against the sudden phosphorescent light, wincing at the loud, disorienting detonation. He spun, his pistol out, the Maglite held in his teeth. A bullet zinged into the wall behind him, and Chris fired blindly into the smoke. He heard a sound, a cry, a harsh groan from the darkness. As the smoke cleared, as his ears stopped ringing, he stepped inside the doorway. 

Still holding the Maglite in his teeth, he opened the iris and swept the bean around the room. The subject lay on the floor, writhing in pain, his back to Chris. He stepped forward in a cautious sidle, his pistol trained on the downed subject. The body was still now, and Chris’s heart was hammering hard as he jammed the barrel against the back of the man’s neck. He was wearing a baseball cap, and Chris grabbed it and jerked it off. Brown hair tumbled free, and Chris started shaking. Heavy with reluctance, he turned the body ... Vin!*

Chris came awake with a start: the reality of his dream cramping in his stomach and making each breath painful and hard. His shoulder and arm were prickling with needles and pins from the weight of Tanner’s body, and his shirt was damp with his own sweat and Vin’s. The window showed a pale grey light. Not quite dark, not quite dawn.

Chris sank back against the pillow. He moved the tangled, sweaty hair from Vin’s face. The Texan was soundly asleep, but he sighed and shifted his position enough so that Chris could pull away without waking him. 

Lord Jesus, a nightmare, but a nightmare with the dread and weight of reality behind it. He was shaking, and if he had been at home, he would have gone straight for the whiskey bottle. Instead, he staggered over to the window, setting distance between himself and Vin, as if that would also distance him from the lingering shock of the dream. Ten thousand miles wouldn’t separate him from his guilt.

Chris had a long and abiding acquaintance with guilt, acquired the day Sarah and Adam had died in a car-bombing that had been meant for him. Buck said his guilt was misplaced, and everything that was rational in Chris agreed, but it didn’t stop the emotion from wearing at the edges of his soul like acid. This was different. He had nothing to do with the car bomb, but everything to do with tossing the grenade that had injured Vin. No, he hadn’t known that the sharpshooter was there. No one did. But that didn’t absolve him from the feeling that he *should* have known. He hadn’t quite reached the point of asking *why* Vin was there to begin with, when all intelligence had cleared both him and Ezra from the scene. His guilt had blinded him to that logic.

He turned from the window. The dimmed light over the bed shone down on Vin as he slept. He looked small, curled on his side, huddled under the blankets. The bandages over his eyes heightened the illusion of fragility; the white bulk of them emphasizing his pallor and the hard, fine line of jaw and cheekbone. Chris sat in the chair at the bedside, watching. His hand was trembling as he raised it, slipped his fingers gently beneath the waves of hair on Vin’s forehead. His skin was warm, not feverish. His breath came and went, catching on a slight hitch as his brow furrowed, perhaps in pain, perhaps in a dream -- Chris couldn’t tell which. 

Right now, he would have given his immortal soul to be able to look into Vin’s eyes.

He sat, head bowed, fingers laced loosely together. He tried to piece together the fragments of the dream that remained in his mind, weaving them together with what he recalled of the raid on the warehouse. The result was a fabric riddled with flaws. 

“C-Chris?” 

Vin’s head moved restlessly on the pillows, his hand fumbled, seeking some assurance that he was not alone. Chris caught those slender fingers in his and raised them to his lips. 

“Easy, partner. I’m here.”

“S’it mornin’?”

“Nearly.”

“Y’all right?”

“Yeah.” Vin’s fingers played lightly over Chris’s face, and it took all of his strength and resolve not to back away from that exploration. He didn’t want that reminder of Vin’s blindness. 

But as his fingers traced the contours of Chris’s face, a slight smile touched Vin’s mouth. He felt the ridge of Chris’s cheekbone, the knife-straight blade of his nose, the sweet fullness of his lower lip, and the cleft in his chin. His fingers wove through the silky weight of his hair where it just curled over his collar, the warmth of Larabee’s skin, the rough stubble of his beard. There were some compensations for the loss of one sense and the heightening of another.

“You sleep at all?” Vin asked. 

“Some. Why?”

A light finger touched the hollows beneath Chris’s eyes. “Ya *feel* tired.”

Chris chuckled. “Hell, Vin. You sure yer not peekin’ around the edges of those bandages?”

Vin’s laughter was a soft, tender, breath. “Reckon I know ya by now.” Chris brushed cool lips across his mouth. The rattle of the breakfast cart outside the door broke the intimacy of the moment; then a nurse came in to take vital signs, and a tech to draw blood for labwork.

Never easy in the presence of strangers, fears magnified by the knowledge that he had to let these people near him and scarcely able to bear their touch, and all of it made far worse by the bandages over his eyes, Vin fought the rising panic, but he could feel his breath strangling in his throat and a tremor of nerves starting to quiver in the pit of his stomach.

Chris could feel the tension building in Vin. His fingers were bunching the blankets into pleated knots and a faint sheen of sweat filmed his skin. Chris touched Vin’s hand, and his fingers jerked convulsively in reaction. “Vin, there’s a nurse here, and someone to draw blood. I’m gonna step out for a few minutes to let them do their jobs, okay? But I’ll be just outside the door.”

A faint flush came into Vin’s cheeks. He was ashamed of his fears, ashamed that Chris had to explain everything to him like he was a kid, and yet at the same time, grateful that Larabee was there watching out for him. “Thanks, Chris,” he whispered and dug deep for courage.

It was over quickly, but not quickly enough for Vin. By the time they had left, and he had recovered from the intimate intrusions his condition necessitated, he was about as worn out as if he had been at hard labor.

He heard someone else come into the room, smelled bacon and eggs. Breakfast. The tray was slid into place, and a soft Spanish-accented voice asked if he needed help. Vin shook his head. “Gracias,” he replied, and was rewarded with a gentle pat on the back of his hand. Kindness was unfamiliar, still, and a surprise to him.

He sat there, knowing the tray was in front of him. His hands clenched on the edge of the table for a moment, as if clinging to the edge of a precipice with all the days and years to come falling away from him. He drew a breath, fought back from that dark edge, then cautiously began an exploration of the tray. Utensils -- metal, but wrapped in plastic. Knife, fork, spoon. A streak of heat as his knuckles grazed the side of a mug. Coffee. A square, waxed cardboard container he figured to be juice. There was a thermal cover over his plate. He could do this ... hell, he’d have to do it, or starve. There was quicker ways of dyin’ than wounded pride.

Chris stood in the doorway, watching that exploration, and aching for Vin. His throat burned fiercely, and he cleared the thick emotion from it before he stepped inside the room once again. “Breakfast?” It was more to let Vin know that he had returned than an actual question. With an ease he didn’t feel, he leaned over and lifted the cover from the plate. “Let’s see what ya got here ... Scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, coffee ... Not too bad.”

As he spoke, he opened the flatware and set it out. “Fork is on your left. Knife and spoon, right.”

Vin gave a slight snort of laughter. “Trust a blind man with a knife?”

“Be pretty hard to do any damage with it,” Chris said, angry that Vin would use the word blind. “There’s jelly and honey for the toast.”

“You know what I like.” 

Chris did. He spread the honey on the bread and put two packs of sugar and some cream in Vin’s coffee. “Eggs are at nine o’clock, bacon’s at twelve, and toast is at three.”

“Thanks.” He ate, tentatively at first, then with an appetite as he became more confident. Chris wondered if, like a cat, Vin had an instinctive sense of distance and proportion. Maybe when this was over, he’d ask. That was, if Vin would tolerate his presence once he knew the truth.

The eggs were relatively tasteless, but Vin’s stomach was clamoring for food, and he knew he’d be better off if he ate. It was weird, not being able to see, but Chris had set everything up so he had a mental picture of what it looked like. It wasn’t until he had finished his toast and settled back with a sigh, that he realized how quiet Chris had been.

“You know somethin’ I don’t?” he asked.

“What?”

“Ain’t said but three words in the last while, Chris. Is somethin’ wrong?”

*Yeah, I’m the reason you’ve landed here,* came to mind, but the words never crossed his lips. Before he had a chance to answer, Dr. Rheinhardt came through the door. She gave Chris a hard study, her sharp eyes seeing more than he liked: exhaustion, worry, maybe even his guilt. But her expression softened when she turned her attention to Vin.

“How are you today?” she asked, her voice low and gentle.

“Hopin’ you’d have some good news,” Vin answered. Chris saw his fingers begin their nervous pleating of the blanket. “Kinda like t’git outta here, if I could.”

“Let’s take a look.” She crossed to the window and closed the blinds, shrouding the room in darkness. “Mr. Larabee, would you dim the lights, please?”

Chris turned the rheostat down until the light over Vin’s bed was no brighter than a candle. He stayed at Vin’s side, his hand resting on his shoulder. Dr. Rheinhardt took out a pair of scissors and cut the bandages away. Chris forced himself to look. It wasn’t as bad as he had feared, but worse than he had hoped. The skin around Vin’s eyes was reddened and swollen, his eyes puffy and watering even in that dim light. 

Dr. Rheinhardt gently pried his lids open and shone her ophthalmoscope into the blue irises. Vin’s breath drew in and he fought against the intrusion of the light. Chris tightened his grip on Vin’s shoulder. “Easy, partner,” he whispered. 

Dr. Rheinhardt turned off the light. She stood for a moment, considering. “So far, it looks good. I’m going to raise the light just a bit, and I want you to tell me how your vision is.”

“Okay.” His eyes were burning fiercely, and his voice had no force behind it. If Chris’s hand hadn’t been warm and steadying on his shoulder, he would have been shivering. He waited and slowly the brightness beyond his lashes increased. Reflexively, he squinted, fighting against it, but slowly he forced himself to look. Colors. He caught his breath. The pale walls, the square frame of a painting on the wall; details still blurred, but the red and gold of what he thought were flowers was clear. He turned his head deliberately towards Dr. Rheinhardt. “Yer wearin’ a blue blouse beneath that white coat a’ yers,” he said, smiling. “Good thing I ain’t lookin’ at Larabee. All I’d see is black.”

Relief flooded through Chris, and he forced himself to make a jesting reply because Vin would expect it. “You’ve got a smart mouth, Tanner,” he growled, and saw Vin’s cheek twitch in a smile.

Dr. Rheinhardt looked pleased. “I’d say you’re making excellent progress. You’ll need to keep your eyes bandaged for another day or so, but the corneas look good. The abrasions are healing well, and the chemical burns on your skin are much better. You heal fast.”

“Fast enough t’git outta here?”

“That’s up to Dr. Stone. I don’t have any reason to keep you here, though you will have to come back tomorrow so I can examine your eyes again.” 

“I can do that,” Vin said. “Chris?”

“I’ll be around.” 

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Call my office to set up a time when you find about being discharged. Otherwise, I’ll see you here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“I’ll make sure he’s here, Doctor.”

She nodded, gave him a look that clearly indicated that she expected him to see to it, and left. Vin started to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and banged into the table, setting china rattling, and flatware sliding across the tray. He cursed irritably, and Chris grabbed the table and rolled it out of the way.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Gettin’ dressed.”

“Not until Dr. Stone gives you the go-ahead.” Chris gently hooked his arm around Vin’s waist and pulled him back to the bed. “Stay put. I’m gonna call Buck and tell him the good news. We’ve all been worried, you know that?”

Vin nodded. “I ain’t gonna forget that, Chris.” He reached out, seeking Chris’s hand and felt those strong fingers close over his. “When’re ya gonna tell me what’s eatin’ at ya, cowboy?” When Chris’s clasp loosened suddenly, Vin reversed the grip, holding Chris fast before he could withdraw from the telling contact. “I ain’t the one runnin’, Chris. Not this time.”

Chris closed his eyes, grateful, if only for a moment that Vin couldn’t see his expression. “Let’s get you out of here, first.”

Vin’s clasp tightened. “Y’ain’t ever lied t’me, Chris.”

“I wouldn’t lie, Vin.” Not even at the cost of mortal pain to his own heart. He bent his head and kissed Vin’s temple, over the line of the bandages. “I won’t lie.”

A soft knock on the door parted them, and Dr. Stone came in, brow knitted over Vin’s chart. She stood at the foot of his bed. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“What?” 

If not for the bandages on his eyes, she knew they would have opened wide and innocent, completely disarming her. She sighed, “Stay out of here for more than a month at a time.”

“Maybe I jist get t’missin’ you, doc.”

She gave a delicate snort of laughter. “Save it, Tanner. I can *see* those puppy-dog eyes behind those bandages, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Hell, it was worth a try,” Vin smiled. Dr. Stone had seen him, had seen them all, through some harrowing times and serious injuries. She knew and understood the dynamics that made them a unique team and the emotional bonds that held them together as friends. Above all, she knew that the two men before her had a relationship that was stronger than steel and more delicate than silk, a woven net of heart and soul that was rare and precious, and completely beyond comprehension. 

“Mmmm,” was what she said. And Chris was grateful for her humor, for the way she knew Vin needed to be handled. Another, less perceptive doctor would have driven him into taciturn withdrawal.

She listened to his heart, took his pulse. She slipped the hospital gown from his shoulder, hating that he flinched away from her touch and knowing that it had nothing to do with her, but with the hard life he had led. She was under no illusions -- she had seen his scars. She cut through the bandages on his shoulder; the wound was swollen and bruised-looking, but no longer bleeding. “It looks like the bullet was deflected and had lost most of its impact,” she observed quietly. She taped a fresh gauze over the wound and stood with her arms folded. She spoke to Vin, but her eyes held Chris’s.

“I have no real objection to discharging you -- as long as you promise to take care of yourself and keep all your appointments. I don’t want to see you in my ER for at least another month. I’ll speak to Dr. Rheinhardt. And so, Vin, I guess you’re out of here.”

“Thanks, doc.” He turned to Chris. “Take me t’my place?”

Chris didn’t answer. He looked at Dr. Stone, saw the concern in her eyes. She knew where Vin lived and obviously didn’t like the idea of him going home alone, and blind. “We’ll talk,” he said. “Thank you, Dr. Stone.”

After a moment, when Vin was sure she had gone, he spoke, his voice tight and tense. “Jist ‘cause I cain’t see doesn’t mean I need lookin’ after like a cripple.”

“I never said that!” Chris objected. “It’s not a matter of your being helpless -- it’s a matter of doing what’s best for you right now.”

“And you’re jist damn sure that you know what that is.” 

“I know that Purgatorio isn’t a place for a man who can’t see,” Chris said evenly, though there was a burn in his stomach, worry and anger wearing at his incipient ulcer. “Don’t let your damn pride get in the way of common sense, Vin.”

Vin’s shoulders slumped. At any other time he would have given Chris a run for his money, but he was too damn tired, and too damn sore. He ached for home, for a place that was small and familiar, where he knew every stick of furniture and every warped board in the floor. As much as he loved the ranch, he couldn’t imagine himself sitting out there, unable to see, and dependent on Chris.

His silence, the bow of his shoulders, the furrow of pain on his forehead, all spoke of defeat. That was the last thing Chris wanted for Vin. Sometimes the logic of the heart outweighed the logic of the head. He set his hand on Vin’s shoulder. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want t’go home, Chris. My place ain’t much, but I know where I’m goin’. It’s closer t’the hospital, and I don’t want ya t’have to drive me an hour to and from fer the next few days.”

Reluctantly, Chris admitted Vin was making sense. He thrust his fingers through his hair. “I’m staying with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah ... I do.” He paced, the heels of his boots sounding hollow in the silence. “I’ll call Buck, have him come and pick us up. The Ram’s at the office. I’ve got jeans and a sweatshirt in my gym bag, give ya something to wear home.”

Vin nodded. There was still that edge to Chris’s voice that went beyond stress and worry. It imposed a distance between them, and it made Vin feel cold and lonely inside, the way he’d felt before he’d met Chris. Vin was pretty certain it wasn’t something he had done, not from the way Chris had stayed with him last night, which meant the trouble was within Larabee himself. 

Vin was getting an idea as to what it was, but digging through Chris’s reticence was more than he could handle. Not like he had time to handle it, either. The office was only twenty minutes from the hospital, and Buck drove fast. A nurse came with his discharge papers and instructions; and Chris signed for him, using the power of attorney Vin had given him a while ago. By the time he had finished, Buck was in the room, bringing with him the tang of fresh air and the warmth of laughter. 

He tossed the gym bag on the bed. “Hey there, Junior. You don’t look too bad, but Chris looks like shit.”

“Thanks, Buck.” Chris unzipped the gym bag and took out the clothes inside. “Why don’t you go chase a nurse, or something?”

“Am I supposed to be insulted by that?” Buck asked. He set an easy hand on Vin uninjured shoulder. “The man’s been alone for too long.”

Chris coughed, choking on the breath he’d pulled in, and Vin just gave Buck that twist of a smile like he understood the joke, when it wasn’t Buck’s joke at all that he was smiling at. Buck crowed with laughter. “Tell ya what, I’ll just have a talk with that pretty little nurse, then get the truck. You be ready in fifteen minutes?”

“The sooner the better if y’ask me, Bucklin.” He could tell when Wilmington was gone because the room seemed much emptier without that expansive presence. He managed to get dressed with minimal help from Chris. The jeans were too long and gapped a bit at the waist and hip. The sweatshirt was a size too large, but it was soft and warm, and smelled like Chris’s shampoo and soap. As Chris tugged the hem of the shirt over the waisband of the jeans, Vin caught his lover’s hand in his. “Buck was right about somethin’, Chris.”

Close enough to feel the brush of Vin’s breath and the warmth eddying from his skin, Chris paused with his free hand braced lightly on Vin’s thigh. “What?”

“Ya have been alone fer too damn long,” Vin whispered. “How long’s it been since we were t’gether? Two weeks?” He leaned forward slightly so that his cheek rested against Chris’s. “Way too long.” His hand crept around Chris’s waist, pulling him close enough for a kiss. Larabee’s lips softened, and Vin smiled at that surrender. It didn’t last long. Chris returned the kiss fiercely, then pulled away.

“Not here,” he said, still backing from Vin’s embrace.

Vin released him with a sigh. “Then git me home where I c’n do something about it,” he whispered, close enough still, to send a sensual shiver down Chris’s spine. 

“You need to rest.” He heard voices outside the door, and an orderly came in with a wheelchair. “Ride’s here, Vin. Let’s go.” He guided Vin into the chair, picked up the gym bag and his jacket, and followed him down the hall, to the elevators. As they stood waiting for the elevator, he caught a glimpse of Dr. Stone coming from another room on the floor. “Vin, tell Buck I’ll be down in a minute. Something I need to ask Dr. Stone.” He was gone before Vin or the orderly could say anything.

“Dr. Stone!”

She turned at the sound of his voice and hurried footsteps, waited for him to catch up to her. “Yes, Mr. Larabee?”

“About Vin --”

“He *is* well enough to go home, Chris.” There had been times when they had come to words over similar issues -- differences they had split about fifty-fifty. She hoped he wasn’t going to argue on this one.

He smiled, acknowledging their battles. “It’s not about that. I ... I was wondering if you knew what kind of bullet they took out of Vin.”

He seemed tentative, and that was entirely uncharacteristic of Chris Larabee. She frowned and flipped through the pages of the chart she held. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t say. I can check with the surgeon in ER --”

“No, that’s all right. I can get the information from Buck. It’s probably been sent to ballistics.”

He seemed very low, and Dr. Stone wondered if she had the right to say what was on her mind, but never having been a coward, not even in Chris Larabee’s daunting presence, decided to forge on. “You’re worried that it was your bullet, aren’t you?” Chris’s head came up sharply, but before he could speak again, she continued. “Even if it was, he wouldn’t blame you for doing your job.”

“The grenade was mine. No doubt about that.”

*Lord.* What did you say to that? She looked at him, his features fine and hard as the blade of a knife, green eyes looking inward at his guilt. “Are you perfect?”

The question shocked those eyes back from the abyss. “What?”

“Are you perfect? Do you make mistakes? I do. Everyday. I patch up damages done to the human body, day after day. Sometimes, I save lives, sometimes I can’t. I’ve made mistakes, wrong calls, bad judgments. It’s part of being human and fallible. If you beat yourself up over every error until you’re sick with worry and guilt, it must be because you believe yourself to be perfect. Otherwise, you’d admit that like every other person who walks the earth, you are only human. Anything else is pure hubris. I never took you to be that kind of man.”

Those green eyes blazed fire for a moment, then a smile touched his grim mouth as the truth of her words took hold. “Sounds like you’ve been talking to Josiah.”

It was her turn to smile. “We’ve had our discussions. Lord knows, he’s spent more than his share of time in the ER chairs, waiting while one or another member of your team is being patched up. Give yourself a break, Chris Larabee. I doubt even Vin believes you’re perfect. Go, take him home. Tell him the truth.” She gave him a brisk pat on the arm as the elevator doors opened, and as he stepped inside, she continued down the hall, her heels tapping with staccato efficiency on the tiles.

*******************  
 **Part Three**

 

It was one of those rare occasions when the elevator in Tanner’s apartment was working. At least Vin wouldn’t have to make it up four flights of stairs, hurting and blind. Chris took the keys from Vin, and opened the locks that normally would have him cussing a blue-streak, but which suddenly seemed all too necessary for safety. He shoved the door open, felt Vin’s weight sag slightly against his shoulder.

“You all right there, pard?”

“Jist tired.”

Chris laughed, “And you wanted to walk up those stairs?”

“Better’n bein’ stuck in the damn elevator.”

“That damn elevator saved me from having to carry you four flights up.”

Vin took several steps into the room, paused and then walked slowly to the couch, his fingertips gliding across the back of his rocking chair as a smile lit his face at the dear familiarity of it. He sank into it, tipped his head against the back and sighed as he settled into an easy rock. 

Chris watched him; aching, and, despite Dr. Stone’s words, certain that guilt would kill him one way or another. The white gauze over Vin’s eyes, the reddened skin showing beneath the bandages, the faint outline of a bruise on his cheek -- they were all an indictment of his failure once again to protect the people he loved: Sarah and Adam, and now, Vin.

He left the room and went into the kitchen. He flipped his cell phone and dialed the office. “JD?” he asked when the young agent picked up the phone.

“Hey, Chris, how’s Vin doin’?”

“We’re at his place. Listen, JD. Did the ballistics report come back yet?”

“Umm, I don’t know.” The sound of papers shuffling came through the receiver, and Chris sighed, leaning back against the counter and pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache burgeoning there. “Chris?”

“You got it?”

“Yeah, it just came in. What’dya want to know?”

“The bullet. Did it -- was it one of ours?”

“No.”

“No?” Chris could scarcely believe it. “Are you sure?”

“I know how to read, Chris.” JD sounded aggrieved. “And the report says it wasn’t.”

Chris slid down the cabinet and sat on the floor, his knees gone weak with relief. “Thanks, JD.”

“You didn’t think -- Geez, Chris!” And then as he realized that he was overstepping the bounds of their business relationship, he faltered and apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean --”

“You gave me good news, JD. No need to apologize.” He could *feel* Dunne’s blush through the phone. “Thanks.”

“Tell Vin we’re cleaning off his desk.” 

Chris laughed. “No, JD. *You* tell him that.” Vin’s desktop was always a mass of paperwork that he never filed, but on which he could unerringly locate a three weeks-old report with the flick of a finger -- to Ezra’s despair and JD’s undying admiration. Vin hated other people, even the members of Team Seven, rifling through his *system*. 

“He’s gonna be all right, isn’t he?”

“According to the doctors, yes.”

“Good. If there’s anything we can do --”

“I’ll let you know. Get back to work, son.” Then he closed the phone and pushed himself upright once more. He went to the refrigerator to take stock. A carton of orange juice, cola, milk. Varied cartons of Chinese take-out. Leftover pizza. Eggs. Half a loaf of bread. In the drawers, lunch meat and apples. Enough to fix a meal if Vin felt like eating.

He wandered back into the living room. The rocking chair was still. Chris, his heart in his throat, crossed over to it. Vin was curled up crosswise, his head drooping on his chest. How the hell could he sleep in that position? Chris considered waking him, then figured he’d wake soon enough on his own. 

He sat across from Vin, waiting for that moment, not wanting him to be disoriented when he roused. The light coming through the tall windows shifted as time passed; it crept across the floor, flowed up the warm oak rails of the rocker, drifted across Vin’s shoulders. It burnished the brown strands of his hair, touched it with gold and red like mahogany. When it reached his face, it warmed him awake gently. He sighed, stirred. Chris knelt at the arm of the rocker and laid his hand on Vin’s cheek. 

He instinctively turned to Chris’s palm. A slight, indrawn breath. “Chris?” 

He couldn’t resist. He set his lips on Vin’s mouth, and felt him yield to the kiss. Tongues touched, teased, tasted what had been missed for so long. Vin slid his body around, so that Chris was kneeling between his thighs. Unable to see, he used his fingers as his vision, modeling every line of Larabee’s face. They feathered over Chris’s eyelids, feeling the trembling there, the soft brush of long lashes, the ridge of the orbital bone. He stroked his thumbs down the sides of Larabee’s face, found the curve and angle of his jaw, the cleft in his chin. He tilted that face, whispered kisses across the brow, down his cheeks, beard-roughened and salty-tasting, and back to the full-lipped mouth that was waiting for him. God. So many sensations, so much sweetness and heat. The denial of one sense heightened all the others, and Vin was drowning in them.

“I’ve rested,” he said, his voice husky and raw with need.

How could Chris refuse when the same ache was racing like fire through his body? He wrapped his arms around Vin, aware of his wounded shoulder, tighter with his left arm than his right, felt Vin hook his leg around his hips to hold him close. Sure-fingered despite the blindfold, Vin unbuttoned Chris’s shirt and slipped it from his shoulders, the tails still tucked in the waist of his jeans. 

Chris’s heart beat wildly against Vin’s palm. His skin was like hot satin, supple and smooth over bone and muscle. Vin bent his head, inhaling Larabee’s scent of sweat, soap, and masculine musk. The skin over the crown of his shoulder had a coppery tang to it as Vin ran his tongue along the rounded cap of muscle and the blade of his clavicle. He made small, sharp bites along the flesh of Chris’s shoulder and the curve of his neck, pausing to blow across the reddened skin and making him shiver and gasp at the sensations of heat followed by the cooling breath. Vin laced his fingers across the back of Chris’s neck and Larabee leaned into those hands cradling him, exposing the length of his throat.

Chris groaned as Tanner’s mouth scored a line of flame from beneath his ear to his Adam’s apple. He should have stopped him. He should have backed away and forced him to listen to the truth. But beneath logic, beneath guilt, lay the knowledge that Vin needed the reassurance of lovemaking more than Chris needed expiation. So, he yielded; guilt burned away by desire, and, by love.

Vin’s hands closed on his upper arms, and they stood, bodies pressed close. Vin stroked down Chris’s long, muscled back, the channel of his spine. His palms curved on either side of Chris’s narrow waist. He pulled the shirt free of his jeans, let it drop to the floor. He didn’t need sight to thumb the brass rivet through the buttonhole, or pull down the zipper. He ran the back of a knuckle from Chris’s navel to the band of his briefs, slipped this fingers past the elastic and found the velvety tip of his cock moist with semen. 

Vin pushed him back, preparing to kneel, but Chris stopped him, pulled him close again. “We’re taking this to the bedroom,” he growled, his voice deep. 

Vin nodded, and let Chris guide him through the familiar room, across the narrow hall, to the bedroom. He was dizzy with Chris’s kisses, aching, wanting. Then he felt the edge of the mattress pressing into the backs of his legs, and he sat down, suddenly missing Larabee’s touch. “Chris?”

“I’m here.” The mattress gave way, and Chris was kneeling next to him. “Lift your right arm,” he said. Vin did, and felt the sweatshirt being bunched up and slid over his arm. Chris’s careful hands stretched the jersey fabric, brought it over his hair and bandages, then down the left arm and shoulder. The air in the room was cool, and he shivered slightly.

Chris laid him back on the bed; and Vin stretched out with the rough wool of his Navajo blanket beneath his shoulders. His erection rose as Chris slid the jeans down over his hips. He was cold for a moment, then Chris’s warm, naked body covered his own. 

*Oh God.* He wanted to breathe, and couldn’t. He lay still and Chris’s hands came in the darkness, touching, caressing. Every nerve of Vin’s body was inflamed. Not knowing where Chris would touch next, startled when it wasn’t what he expected. The glide of tongue, the scrape of a nail across his nipples, warm breath at his ear. His blood was pooling in his groin, and he writhed, seeking more intimate contact, and nearly cried out when Larabee’s cock brushed against his. His hips arched. Chris held him still. His stubbled cheek rasped against Vin’s flank. He tasted and teased the sensitive skin at the crease of his thigh, and Vin’s hands clenched into the wool of the blanket. Anticipation made him tremble, the pressure of waiting for the next touch, nearly unbearable.

When Chris took him in his mouth, Vin did cry out. Chris curled warm, strong fingers around Vin’s swollen balls, stroking and kneading them in the heavy sac. He probed the weeping slit in Vin’s glans, suckling on the bittersweet taste of his lover, taking the shaft deep in his throat as Vin’s hips moved to drive him deeper yet. It was all sensation now, blind instinct. 

Blind.

Knowledge curled in Chris’s mind and he withdrew from Vin, raising a sob, and bringing Tanner’s hands to either side of his head, holding him, cheek to groin. Chris’s heated breath drifted across Vin’s rigid sex. 

“Chris?” There was a plea there, and pain.

A tear slipped from Chris’s eyes, slid down his cheek and fell. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice muffled against Vin’s warm skin. 

“Yer hurtin’ me now,” Vin whispered. “An jist ‘cause I cain’t see, don’t mean I cain’t feel you’re hurtin’, too.”

The soft, fractured voice drew Chris upwards to gather Vin’s slight, shivering body into his arms. He pushed the damp hair from Vin’s forehead, and wishing, God, wishing, that he could look into Tanner’s deep blue eyes and tell him the truth. But those eyes that held Vin’s soul were bandaged and blind and Chris didn’t know what to do.

Vin spoke into the silence. “I don’t need ya t’talk to me, Chris.”

“What do you need?” The words came roughly from Chris’s throat.

“This.” Vin’s lips claimed his, and he caught Chris’s hand and guided it back to his hard, heated flesh as his own fingers wrapped around his lover’s cock. The shaft engorged as he stroked it with deft fingers, and he felt fresh cum gathering on the head. Chris arched his back as Vin pressed closer. Vin enclosed both his and Chris’s cocks in his hand, working the flesh, pumping it as he thrust his tongue into the warm depths of Larabee’s mouth. Chris answered the kiss, his breath coming hard and fast as Vin increased the pressure and the movement of his hand. Their bodies rocked together, limbs tangled, arms entwined, as sweat slicked their skin. 

Vin’s tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, mimicking the motion of his fist around Chris’s flesh. Trapped between their bodies, worked by Vin’s hands, lubricated by sweat and cum, Chris felt the blood run boiling through his cock, catching him and carrying him on the crest of his orgasm. The wave broke as his pelvis jerked convulsively against Vin’s hand and body. Darkness swirled around him and through him; semen poured over his hand, over Vin’s fingers, and he felt the moment that Tanner’s climax rushed over him, his seed spurting to mingle with Chris’s as he cried out his name.

“Chris!”

Dimly, through the fading tide of sexual ecstasy, Chris thought: *Why didn’t you call out like that in the warehouse? Why didn’t you call my name, then?* 

And he wept.

*********************

Vin lay still, his body pressed into the warm curve of Chris’s. Larabee’s arm was across his waist, and he too, was quiet, but not with the lax peace that followed the storm of passion. Vin recognized the studied stillness of suppressed pain, he had used it too often himself, and it hadn’t fooled anybody, much less Chris Larabee. 

He had learned through bitter experience that reality was not something that could be denied without consequences. Sooner or later it came hunting, and he figured you might as well be ready for it. 

He sighed, turned in Chris’s arms. They were so close he could feel Larabee’s breath stirring the strands of hair on his cheek. He wondered if Chris was watching him, and if he was, if he could see anything beyond the white bandages. “Chris?” Just a whisper, but Vin felt his breath draw in, and knew he was out of hiding. “We need ta talk.”

Chris’s heart sank. “Yeah. We need to talk, but not like this. Not here.” Not naked and defenseless in body and soul, with the scent of their sex still heavy in the air. Reluctantly, Chris sat up, covering Vin with a fold of the wool blanket. He picked up his clothes and went into the bathroom, cleaned himself, and got dressed. He took another washcloth and towel back to the bedroom.

Vin was sitting up in the bed, the blanket pooled loosely around his hips, the rest of his body shadowed and beautiful in the pale light that came through the window blinds. Chris felt his flesh stir again at that sight. He handed the towel and washcloth to Vin. “I’ll make some coffee,” he said, and left.

Vin wiped the sweat and semen from his body, then made his way to the chair where he recalled throwing down a pair of jeans the other day. Soft fabric met his fingers and he fumbled his way to the dresser for clean boxers. He took a shirt from a hanger in his closet, figured they all went with jeans anyway, and carefully drew his arms through the sleeves, his shoulder giving him hell. When he had dressed, he returned to the living room, settling once again in his rocking chair. The chair faced west, and the late afternoon sun had warmed the wood. He leaned his head back and waited.

Chris carried out two mugs of coffee; one sweetened and pale with milk, the other, black and bitter. He wished it was whiskey. He stood in front of Vin. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Didn’t say I wanted coffee, Chris.” But he took it. 

Chris went to the window and looked out, not seeing what was in front of him, but what was in his mind, always aware of Vin, like a small, constant electric current humming in the background. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained and far away.

“I was in the warehouse, Vin. I threw the flash-bang.”

There were about a thousand things Vin could have said. And about a thousand things raced through his mind, quick and flashy like a movie running too fast. He took a breath. “Ya want me to get out my scourge and add a few lashes t’the ones yer layin’ on yourself?”

“Don’t --” Chris said, turning from the windows. “Don’t act like it doesn’t matter what I did.”

“You cain’t turn back time, Chris. Cain’t go back and do things different, ‘cause ya didn’t like the way they went before.” 

Rage spilled through Chris. “Jesus Christ! You’re sitting there blind and bandaged because I fucked up, and that’s all you can say?”

“What ‘m I supposed t’say? I had it figured from the first that there was somethin’ tearin’ you up! Didn’t take much to guess what it was.” He stood up, hesitated, wondering which way to step without tripping over something he couldn’t see and wanting to be closer to Chris than he was, as if proximity could compensate for his lack of vision. “It ain’t yer fault, Chris,” he added quietly.

“I should have identified myself,” Chris said.

“You were lucky was only me and not some coked-up gangbanger with an automatic.”

“I should have done that even if it was.” 

“And they would’ve gunned ya down where you stood,” Vin argued. “You’ve seen it happen.” 

That much was true. Chris sighed, “Why were you there, Vin? You and Ezra should have been clear of that place an hour before we moved in.”

It was the first time Chris had mentioned Standish, and Vin’s voice was anxious. “Is Ezra all right?”

“He’s fine. He wasn’t in the warehouse.”

Vin stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Good. That’s what I was hopin’.” He took a few tentative, aimless steps. “It was a trap, Chris. I had it figured out. There wasn’t any way or any time t’git word to ya, so I jist bolted inside, thinkin’ maybe I could find somebody to warn off the teams.” He sighed. “I was followed, thought I could git away, but he started shootin’, and that’s when I was hit. Guess I got lucky, huh?”

“*Lucky?*” Chris was appalled and incredulous. “Damn it, Vin! You nearly got killed!”

“Didn’t see’s I had a choice, Larabee.” He thought of the darkness, the hot smell of cordite, the small, tight corridors, and the knowledge that the man who was his heart and soul, his world, was walking into a trap, along with too many other agents who were his family, now. “Seems we both did our jobs. Don’t see any reason fer beatin’ yerself t’death.”

“It’s not just about the job, Vin.” Chris’s voice was taut, painful. 

Vin made an angry gesture with his hands. “It *has* to be about the job! It cain’t be about us, Chris, and the day it becomes about *us* is the day I gotta walk, fer your sake, and mine.” He turned away and headed towards the bedroom; no hesitation, no halting, despite his bandages. 

Chris stood, arms braced against the window sash, head and shoulders bowed. God, he was tired. The physical ease that had followed their lovemaking had dissipated, leaving in its wake exhaustion and a headache that seemed to start in his spine and run straight like a spike to the top of his skull. Weary, he dropped his arms and headed for the bathroom, knowing Vin kept a variety of analgesics -- mostly prescriptions he hadn’t used -- in his medicine cabinet. Nathan would have had a fit if he knew about Vin’s stash, and not because Tanner was abusing them, but because he was not taking them when needed. 

Chris turned on the light, and immediately regretted it. He looked like the walking dead; pale skin, dark-circled eyes, drawn cheeks. He opened the cabinet and stared at the array of pill bottles, but didn’t take any out. The bathroom door opened behind him, and Vin stood there, leaning against the frame. 

“Headache?”

“Yeah.”

“Should be some souped-up Tylenol in there. Won’t add to that acid burnin’ up yer stomach, either.”

Chris didn’t even ask how he knew. He sorted through the bottles and found the Tylenol. He tossed back three then drank two glasses of water. “Thanks.” 

“Hell, I don’t like even a stubborn bastard like you suffering.” There was humor there, but it couldn’t dispel what had been said earlier. 

“Mind if I use your shower?” Chris asked.

“Cain’t guarantee there’ll be hot water, but go ahead. You know where everything is.” Vin pushed himself away from the wooden door jamb. “I’m gonna lay down fer a bit.”

“I need to go to the office for a while.”

Vin sighed. “You don’t hafta come back. I can get by on my own ‘til tomorrow.”

“Vin -- don’t.” Chris reached out, catching him gently at the nape of his neck and drawing him close. He kissed him, the Texan’s lips cool and soft beneath his before he pulled away. “I want to come back, if you’ll have me.”

Tanner shrugged. “You’ve got a key.” He turned, just slightly off balance, righted himself and seemed to melt into the darkness of the hall and bedroom. Chris heard the creak of the bedstead as he lay down. 

Cursing beneath his breath, he turned on the water, stripped, and stepped into the shower. Blessedly, it was hot. After a long while, the pain pills and the heat of the water beating on his tense shoulders and neck reduced his headache to a bearable throb. He dressed and went to check on Vin.

Tanner was curled on his side, very still and breathing so softly that Chris had to bend close to hear his respiration. It was so fragile, so intimate a sound. He wouldn’t touch Vin, fearing to wake him from his much needed sleep. He pulled the blanket up to his waist, and turned the bedside lamp on low. Even though Vin wouldn’t be able to tell if it was necessary, it made Chris feel better to know that he wouldn’t wake to darkness. 

************************  
 **Part Four**

 

To Chris’s surprise, the rest of the team was in the office. As soon as he walked in the door, all activity stopped. Buck straightened from his lean on the edge of JD’s desk. “Hey, Chief. How’s Vin doing?”

“Resting.”

“You sure?” Nathan asked, and Chris, recalling how deeply Vin had been sleeping when he left, nodded. “I’m sure. He was out.”

“You look like _you_ should be out,” Nathan growled. “When was the last time you slept?”

Chris silenced Nathan with a glare. “I want an update. Now.”

Ezra leaned back in his chair. He was still sporting the slightly over-the-edge appearance his persona favored; dark green silk shirt, tight black jeans, fitted black leather jacket, his auburn hair slicked back. “I spoke to my contact this morning. All is not well in the cadres of our enemies. I fear my stint as this slimy creature has reached the point where a trip to visit his off-shore accounts might be in order.”

“Fine for him, not for you, Ezra. And you’re gonna have to give up the Maserati.”

“I knew that.” Ezra grinned, his gold tooth glinting in his smile. “Mr. Tanner should be proud to have thrown so large a wrench into the workings of these miscreants.”

“Look at this, Chris.” Buck handed him a report. Chris read, and cursed. “Jesus, that’s enough C-4 to have brought down the warehouse and blown us all to kingdom come.”

“Yeah. Vin kept ‘em from fixing the detonators. Tell Junior he’s a bona fide hero.”

“He’s being recommended for a citation,” JD added. 

“I’ll tell him.” Vin didn’t set much store in official commendations. He had a drawer full of ribbons, certificates, and medals that never saw the light of day. Yet he knew the sharpshooter took quiet pride in his work. Work that he might never be able to do again if his vision didn’t return to better than perfection. He could be a good field agent, but he would not be the same. And that would break Chris’s heart, and, he feared, Vin’s spirit. Without another word, he took the stack of reports from Buck, went to his office, and closed the door. 

The members of the team exchanged worried glances, but it was Josiah who got up and approached the lion’s den. He looked through the narrow strip of glass at the side of the door. Larabee was sitting at his desk, hand clenched at his temples as if to press out the pain. Josiah shook his head and uttered a prayer for swift, sure guidance. He knocked, fairly certain that Chris would growl and tell him to go away. But Chris just said, “Come in.” So he did. Once inside, he stood in front of the desk, his massive arms crossed, his face concerned. 

Chris looked up after a moment. “You got something to say, Josiah?”

“You got something you want to tell me?” A heavy eyebrow lifted quizzically.

“Damn, don’t you ever answer a question without asking one first?”

“Yes.”

Chris gave a tired laugh, and since he knew the big man wouldn’t leave without an answer, he waved a hand at the couch. “You’re here, you might as well sit down.”

“You were a mite terse in there. Is Vin all right? Or more to the point, are you all right?”

Chris rubbed his forehead. “Both the ophthalmologist and Dr. Stone say Vin will be fine. It won’t be overnight, but he’ll heal.”

“And you?”

“I’m not the one hurting.”

“There’s more ways to bleed than red, Chris. And I’d say you’ve got a trench carved in your heart.”

Chris wondered how it was that Josiah always came up with the words to describe his feelings. A trench in his heart, God, that was *exactly* how it felt. His hands moved from his forehead, to his eyes. “You got anything to fill in that trench?” he asked.

“First, ya gotta stop digging it deeper every time you look at Vin. He may not see it, but I’d bet my last dollar that he knows what’s goin’ on inside a’ you. That won’t help him, Chris. That boy loves you, and you’re hurting him as much as you’re hurtin’ yourself.”

“Jesus, Josiah! I did hurt him -- I threw the damn grenade, I damn near blinded him for life!”

“Does he know?”

“I told him. He said he’d guessed as much.”

Josiah leaned forward intently. “Did he blame you?”

“No!” Chris stood restlessly and went to his window, unable to bear Josiah’s perceptive study. “No. He said it was the job.”

“He’s right. You did your job. Vin did his. Every day you accept the risks that go with it. If you can’t do that without guilt eatin’ a hole in your heart, then maybe you ought ta rethink your life.”

Chris’s shoulders sagged. Josiah’s words so clearly echoed Vin’s that his stomach hurt. “You got any other useful advice?” he asked, the acid in his voice sharp enough to etch glass.

“You asked me, brother. I answered. Listenin’ is up to you.”

Josiah stood to leave, and Chris turned to face him. “I love him, Josiah. God help me.”

Josiah’s laugh rumbled out. “The Lord helps those who help themselves, Chris. You go with your heart, and He’ll be right along with you.”

He left, and Chris was angry at first that he had no answers to his questions, only more questions. But that was Josiah’s way. He laid out all the possibilities, made you look hard at them, and, sooner or later what seemed impossible sorted itself out. It just didn’t help when your head hurt fit to bust open. 

For a long time, Chris stared at the papers on his desk. The official reports, some of them marked with Vin’s distinctive scrawl of handwriting; his desk calendar. A stack of videotapes. And on his walls -- citations, commendations -- not for him alone, but for this team of men he had assembled. A photograph of himself, Sarah, and Adam, another of Buck holding one of his own awards. He even had one of Vin’s marksman’s certifications hung there because Vin tended to ignore his own achievements, and Chris wanted him to see it whenever he came into the office, as a reminder of what he had accomplished in his life.

His life. 

That was what this job was, and there were lots of people who would say there was something twisted in that. They didn’t understand, they never would. Not even Sarah, who had loved him, had been able to wrap her mind around what the job meant to him. 

Vin understood. From the first moment their eyes had met; Vin leaning against the door of his office, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, Chris prowling angry and hot across the floor, ready to roll on a case that had turned suddenly lethal, but lacking one team member -- a sharpshooter. “I’m your sharpshooter,” Vin had said, his blue eyes looking into Chris’s. 

Sharpshooter, team member, best friend, blood brother, lover. Take one from the equation, and all balance was lost. 

*************************  
Vin knew when he drifted from sleep to wakefulness. His body seemed more solid, the scent of the air sharper, the weight of the blankets heavier. Only the darkness remained the same. Briefly, poised on the edge of awareness, he had tried to open his eyes, and had been disoriented by his lack of sight before he recalled the bandages. His eyes hurt still, burning a bit, and he knew he needed to put drops in them, but he had forgotten to ask Chris where they were.

He sat up, combed his fingers through the tangle of his hair and hated the stringy feel of it. His mouth was dry and sticky from the pain meds and dehydration. He stood up, letting his senses orient him to his surroundings, and made his way to the kitchen, only stubbing his toe once on a box of papers that he had forgotten to take to the office with him the day before the raid. Pretty good, he thought. Right about the time he got the hang of this not being able to see, he’d get the bandages off. 

He reached up, opened the cupboard door. His fingers closed around a glass and he pulled it forward, not realizing that there was a smaller glass in front if it. That glass tipped forward, fell with a crash to the counter, and shattered into jagged pieces. Startled, Vin grabbed the edge of the counter and felt a cold stab of pain across the pads of his fingers, then warm blood. 

“Shit!” He snatched his hand away, fumbling for the towel he kept beneath the sink and wrapping it around his hand. He took a step, incautious, and felt another piece of glass pierce the ball of his foot. “Tanner, you fucking idiot!” He leaned against the counter and lifted his foot, pulled out the offending splinter, then grabbed a second towel in his good hand, bent and swept aside the shards of glass, clearing a path out of the kitchen. He limped into the living room, wondering if he was leaving a trail of blood. He couldn’t tell. His fingers throbbed, and he thought he was still bleeding. He sat in his rocking chair, the towel pressed against his lacerated fingers. 

He was angry at his carelessness, angry at circumstance, childishly and unfairly angry that Chris had left him alone. God, he was so damn fucked up! No wonder Larabee had fled. 

He wondered if the sun had set. He no longer felt any warmth from the window, and the sounds from the street below were late-day traffic -- the squeal of poorly maintained brakes, the chug of mufflers gone bad, kids on the street corners. He could smell cooking odors drifting up the stairwell, so he figured it was dinnertime. 

The dull throb in his fingers echoed the beat of his pulse. He didn’t move; scarcely breathed. And waited in his dark world as the world around him dimmed to evening.

******************  
After Chris left the office, he stopped off at a supermarket to buy some food. Vin’s idea of a balanced meal would have punched a hole in his stomach, and the Texan needed more than leftovers and fast food if he was going to heal properly. 

By the time he dealt with rush hour traffic it was dusk, and Purgatorio looked more decrepit and depressing than ever in the grey light. Chris parked, armed the security system on the Ram, and, with an alert eye on his surroundings, made it into Vin’s building. He took the stairs rather than relying on the elevator: it was a crap shoot at best. Vin had to get out of this place. And even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t leave easily. There was too much of Vin’s past in Purgatorio, just as there was too much of Chris’s invested in the ranch. 

He opened the door to darkness, and thought that Vin was still sleeping until he went into the kitchen and felt the hard crunch of broken glass under his feet. He set the bag of groceries on the counter and heard the tinkle of more glass falling to the floor. “Vin?” he called out and turned on the light. “Jesus! Vin!” Blood smeared across the counter and the floor, a smudged trail of it led into the living room.

“Vin!”

“Ya don’t hafta have kittens, Larabee. I’m all right.” A wry voice spoke from the shadows. “Jist had a little household accident.”

Chris went into the living room and saw him silhouetted against the blue twilight coming through the windows. He drew a breath that he wasn’t even aware he had been holding. “Yeah, they say bathrooms and kitchens are death-traps.” His voice was shaking; he fought for control as he reached to turn on the lamp next to the couch. “What the hell did you do t’yourself, partner?”

“’S’nuthin’, jist a cut across my fingers, n’then I was bright enough t’step on some of the glass.” 

Chris tilted the shade on the lamp so that light fell more directly on Tanner. “Let me see.” He knelt in front of Vin. His hand was clenched around a bloodstained towel. Most of the stains were dark brown and dried, but there was enough fresh blood to cause concern. Chris slowly pried the curled fingers open. Vin’s breath hissed sharply. “Easy there. Just let me take a look, okay?”

He nodded, and Chris tried not to tug at the places where the fabric had adhered to the wound. It didn’t look too bad, but he needed a clearer view to be sure. “I’m gonna get some water, clean you up.”

Vin was quiet, too quiet. Chris got a basin of water and a clean washcloth. He went into the bathroom and found the first aid kit. He took it back to the living room. Tanner’s head was tilted back against the rocker, but he was so far from relaxed that Chris could feel the tension vibrating through him, and he didn’t think it was just from pain. 

“Once we get this cleaned up I’ll be able to tell if you need stitches.”

“I ain’t goin’ back to the hospital,” Vin said. 

“Let me be the judge of that.” Chris began soaking and blotting the blood away. He could feel every move of Vin’s hand, every twitch, every sudden flick of tension as he worked. He was cautious, gentle. The worst cut ran across the middle joint of the index, middle, and ring fingers, but it wasn’t as deep as Chris had feared, and the bleeding had nearly stopped. “Doesn’t look too bad. Don’t think you’ll need stitches.”

“Told ya so.” He sat still as Chris tended to the cuts. He felt the cool line of antiseptic cream Chris laid across the cuts, then the way he wound gauze and tape around each finger. “Ya could’a been a doctor, Larabee. Given Nate a run fer his money.”

Chris laughed softly. “I’ve had my share of practice.” He finished, sighed and sat back. “How’s the foot?”

Reluctantly Vin raised it. Chris stripped the sock off, and as he ran his finger across the ball, he felt a prick of glass. “Still got some glass in there.” He rose to tilt the shade a bit more, then, with the tweezers from the first aid kit, pulled out the splinter. A small bead of blood gathered. Chris soaked it up with a piece of gauze, applied the antiseptic, then bandaged it. “I’m done. You’ll live. Stay put until I sweep up the glass.”

Vin was so quiet that Chris thought he had fallen asleep. “Vin?” he queried.

Tanner’s head moved restlessly. “I’m still here. Sorry t’be so much damn trouble.”

“Jesus, Vin. You’re not.” Short, terse words because the ones he wanted to say seemed stuck in his throat. He stood up, gathering the bloody towels, the debris from the first aid kit, the bowl. He put things away, then returned to the living room. He ran his fingers through his hair, unnerved by Vin’s silence. “You want the TV on?”

He shook his head. “Nuthin’ on but bad news. Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’d you put the eye drops Dr. Rheinhardt prescribed?”

“In the gym bag.” And then when the significance of the question hit him, he cursed beneath his breath. “Why didn’t you ask before I left?”

Vin gave a chuff of laughter. “Wasn’t exactly on my mind, Larabee.”

Chris went to the gym bag and took out the small bottle. “You need ‘em now?”

“Yes.”

Chris got the bottle, and carefully pulled the tape and protective pads from Vin’s eyes. His hands were shaking but he stood between the direct light and Vin, and prayed that he could still his hands enough to administer the drops. The swelling was way down, even from the morning. He put the drops in, wiped off the excess, and put the pads back in place. “Better?”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular Florence Nightingale.” He sat down, rubbed his eyes. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come back?” he asked quietly.

“Called Mrs. Santos from downstairs.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I knew ya’d be here.” 

“How?”

“’Cause if it was you here, I’d have come back,” he said.

The simplicity of it took Chris’s breath away. But then, that was Vin. True aim and a truer heart. The iron fist that had been clenching Chris’s heart relaxed its hold. He went to Vin, stroked a curved knuckle down his cheek. “I got some steaks, hash browns. Think you could eat?”

Vin smiled. “Yeah, I think I could.” He caught Chris’s wrist, held it lightly braceleted in his fingers. “Missed you, cowboy.”

Chris chuckled. “Then you need t’keep up your strength. I’m cookin’.” A quick kiss, lips burned across a stubbled cheek, and though he knew there were other words to say -- words that *had* to be said -- they would wait quietly and not gnaw at his heart.

***************

The words waited through the evening. They ate, then lay on the couch and listened to a hockey game; Chris providing a play-by-play more descriptive than the color-commentator, and Vin stretched out alongside him, legs tangled with Chris’s, his head on Chris’s shoulder, content, even without sight. He knew Larabee wanted to talk, but Lord, he was tired, and right now all he wanted was to absorb Chris’s warmth, Chris’s strength. But he could also feel that Chris was rolling ideas around in his head, and wasn’t half as relaxed as he was pretending to be.

He turned, tilting his head up slightly. “Ya got somethin’ t’say?”

Chris’s shoulder hunched beneath his cheek. When he spoke, his voice had a rough edge to it. “I went to the office. Talked to Josiah. Spent a lot of the time staring at the pictures on the wall. Thought about what this job means to me. What it means to all of us.” His fingers moved idly through Vin’s hair. “After Sarah and Adam died, I swore I’d draw a line between my personal life and the job, and I’d *never* cross that line again. And now I can’t do that -- separate the two -- because the job is part of us both. I’m still fighting with that, Vin.”

Vin was quiet for a while. The same emotions had torn him apart; his feelings for Chris, the job, and the team, battling inside of him for a long time. Once he and Chris had become lovers, he had found peace, accepting that the three were, and always would be, irrevocably entwined. That complicated love was the best thing that had ever happened in his life, and he wouldn’t regret it to his dying day. Didn’t matter if it was tomorrow or fifty years from now. 

He knew it was harder for Chris, carrying the loss of his wife and son. He couldn’t soothe those wounds, didn’t think he should try. That was Chris’s burden; all he could do was make it a little lighter. Vin sighed, searching for the right words. “Maybe you should stop fightin’,” he finally said. He took Chris’s hand and laid it over his throbbing heart. “Ya feel that? You ever seen a picture of a heart? You could cut it in two, an’ the parts would look about the same, but ya cain’t live with jist a half.”

For the second time that night, Vin had taken his breath away. Chris ached to look into his eyes and see the poet’s soul that shone there and was so rarely revealed. He cradled Vin’s face between his hands, feeling the strength in those fine bones. “You ...” he cleared his throat, shook his head. 

Vin traced his thumb across Chris’s mouth. “What?” he rasped softly. 

“This.” He captured Vin’s fingers, kissed them, flicked his tongue across the sensitive tips, making Vin gasp. “And this.” His lips found Vin’s, moving slowly over the pliant contours; lingering on the sweet curve of his lower lip. His kisses moved to Vin’s temple. “And this ...” 

“It’s jist me, Larabee. Ain’t nuthin’ y’ain’t seen b’fore.”

“I could spend the rest of my life with you and still be amazed.” Like he was now, watching the blush rising in Vin’s face. “You just remember that, okay?”

It was Vin’s turn to be speechless. The love, the commitment, Chris offered was more than he’d had from anybody in his entire life. There were times when it frightened him; to need and want someone as badly as he needed and wanted Chris. No one had ever told him that this was love, this was how it felt. He was flying blind, literally, trusting that this man would carry him, would protect him, would not let him fall. So many others had, leaving him bruised and wary. But not Chris; even when he thought he had failed, Vin knew he was there, watching his back. He sighed. “I’ll remember.” He shivered a little, thinking that the dark would be unbearable without Chris there.

“You cold?”

“Little bit.”

“Think it’s time I got you into bed.”

A faint stir of unease. “I ain’t helpless, Chris.”

Chris laughed, pulled him close. “Umm, you ever think I might have a vested interest in that?”

Vin chuckled. “I love it when ya talk dirty, cowboy.”

Chris’s response was to nuzzle against Vin’s ear, nip at the lobe and whisper, “Fuck you.”

“Y’askin’ or tellin’?”

“Both.” Those maddening lips moved from his earlobe down his throat, caressed the line of his jaw, and then rested against his own. “Your decision.”

As much as Vin wanted Chris and craved the closeness of sex and the reassurance of love, he couldn’t, not tonight. His emotions were all jumbled; uncertainty and reluctance warring with desire. He had played a game in his mind often enough, a sexual tease of blindness and exploration, but reality had taken the erotic edge off of that fantasy, and he didn’t like thinking about it being a permanent condition. He caressed Chris’s face and neck. “Either way’s all right,” he sighed. “But jist not tonight.”

Chris drew away. “You feel that bad?” From the worry in his voice, Vin could *see* the expression on Larabee’s face; vertical lines between the brows, green eyes narrowed with concern and searching for signs of illness or fatigue that he might have missed.

“I’m all right.” He frowned. “Tired, is all. But I miss seein’ ya, Chris. Miss bein’ able t’look in yer eyes. Y’understand?” 

“I understand.” Chris’s arms tightened their hold. “You worried about what Dr. Rheinhardt will say tomorrow?”

“I want ta rip off these bandages and open my eyes -- test ‘em out --”

Chris captured his hands, as if that action were a real possibility. “Vin, don’t --”

He snorted softly, amused and touched by the protective gesture. “I ain’t stupid.” He sat up, scrubbed at his stubbled cheeks. “Am tired, though.” He stood up, stretched out his back and grimaced as the muscles twinged. He felt Chris stand behind him and set a warm, strong palm on the small of his back. He began a slow massage until Vin groaned softly and leaned into the welcome pressure. When Vin sighed and drooped against him, Chris draped an arm across his shoulders, and they wandered down the hall towards the bedroom. 

They paused, and Chris turned him to the right. “Bathroom. Brush your teeth like a good little boy while I turn down the bed.”

Vin dug a sharp elbow into his ribs. “Yes, mom,” he mocked. When he negotiated his way to the bedroom, he leaned against the jamb, aware that he could *hear* Chris breathe, could *smell* the drift of his soap, could *feel* the air stir as he moved about the room. He’d heard that other senses adapted when vision was taken; maybe it was true, but nothing could replace it. And right now, he was yearning to have it back so much it hurt. 

He felt his way to the bed and sat down, exhaustion washing through him. He let Chris undress him, felt the way his hands turned each movement into a caress. Dizzy with longing, and at the same time too tired to move, he let Chris lay him down and pull the soft, cool covers over him. “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’ain’t leaving, are ya?”

Chris paused. “You want me to stay the night?”

“Don’t think I could stand it if ya left,” he said softly. Silence from Chris, and then he felt the mattress give and the motions of Larabee getting undressed. He heard him leave the room, water running in the bathroom, and the rattle of the old pipes when the toilet was flushed. There was a brief infiltration of cooler air as the covers were lifted, then Chris slid into bed, his smooth, hard body spooning around Vin’s. He laid a warm arm over his waist. Vin sighed. “Guess yer stayin’,” he said, content and slipping into sleep even as he spoke.

“Guess so, partner.” Chris settled deeper into the mattress, letting Vin’s slender body adapt to the curves of his larger frame. Tanner was a quiet sleeper, breath and body, and Chris loved the feel of him as he slept; butt snugged up tight to Chris’s crotch, which made for some mighty interesting mornings, but tonight just left him with a slight ache of arousal that faded as he let himself sink into weary slumber.

**********************  
 **Part Five**

Chris didn’t need an alarm the next morning. A slight shift in position and a soft, deep breath communicated the change from sleep to wakefulness, and he knew Vin was up. They both lay quietly, savoring the morning feel of their bodies close and warm. Vin finally turned from his side to his back, uttering a slight grunt of pain as his shoulder came in contact with Chris’s chest. 

“Mornin’.”

“Seems about right. How’re you feeling?”

“Little stiff and sore. A hot shower would feel real good.”

Chris lifted up on his elbow. “You can manage that?”

“I think so.” He ran a slow hand down Chris’s chest. “If I cain’t, yer welcome t’lend a hand.”

Chris’s cock stirred with interest, and he knew from Vin’s smile that the Texan felt it too. His hand drifted lower, and Chris nudged it aside. “Save it for later, partner. You’ve got t’be at the hospital in an hour.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I ain’t fergot.” He sat up, Chris’s hand at his back. “Jist tryin’ t’push it outta my mind fer a while.”

Chris rubbed Vin’s back in small, comforting circles. The flesh was smooth over the curves of muscle and bone and he put his lips to Vin’s shoulder blade, breathing in the scents of sleep, sweat, and the man he loved. “I’ll be there no matter what happens, you know that.”

Vin’s head dipped, and Chris knew that he had moved Vin beyond words. He didn’t need words, all he needed was for Vin to be whole, restored, and at his side. He firmed his grip on Vin’s uninjured shoulder. “But if we don’t get moving here, we’ll never make it on time, and I don’t know about you, but the last person I want to piss off is Dr. Elizabeth Stone. And seein’ as she’s responsible for stitching up your miserable hide every time you get hurt, neither should you.”

Vin’s smile broadened. “You got that right, cowboy.” He leaned forward, missing Chris’s lips and landing a kiss on his chin. “Damn, m’aim’s all screwed up.” He took Chris’s jaw in his fingers, turned it slightly, and this time, found his target, before he slid his legs over the side of the bed.

Chris stood up and stretched. He went into the bathroom, started the water running, made sure that there were towels ready, and set the bath mat on the floor so Vin wouldn’t slip. “I’m gonna start coffee. You’re all set in here. If you need anything --”

Vin stood in the doorway. “I’ll call.” He paused for a moment. “Thanks, Chris.”

“I’ll send my bill later. When you’re done, I’ll tape up that shoulder and put fresh gauze on your eyes, just don’t get it too wet.”

Vin sketched a salute. “Yes, sir. Now git outta here, or I will be late.”

Chris went into the kitchen and started coffee brewing. He found bread, butter, and honey; three staples Vin was never without. There were four boxes of cereal in the cupboard, ranging from coma-inducing, sugar-coated flakes to relatively sensible raisin bran. Chris grinned and shook his head. Amazing what the kitchen revealed about the taciturn, sharp-eyed Texan.

Chris’s cell phone rang as he set out the cereal on the counter. “Larabee.”

“Well, good mornin’ to you, too, old pard.” 

“Mornin’, Buck.” Chris poured a mug of coffee and carried it into the living room. 

“Where *are* you?”

“Right now?”

“Hell, yes. Right now.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Larabee, when yer ready t’stop playin’ Twenty Questions let me know, all right?”

Chris grinned. “Sorry. At Vin’s.”

“What’s at Vin’s?”

“At the moment, I am.”

“You stay there all night?”

Chris looked down the hall. The bathroom door was still closed, the shower still running. “I didn’t want him to be alone. Purgatorio isn’t exactly the safest place for a man who can’t see, even if that man is Vin Tanner.”

“How’s he doin’?”

“It’s rough, Buck. He’s got an appointment with Dr. Rheinhardt this morning to check on his progress since yesterday. And Dr. Stone wants to take a look at his shoulder, though that seems to be healing well.”

“You comin’ in to the office first?”

“Not unless I need to. Vin’s appointment is early.”

“Think he’d mind if I met you there?”

Chris was silent. The shower had stopped running. “Listen, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call from the hospital.” He flipped the phone shut. “Vin, you ready for some coffee?” he called down the hallway. 

Vin padded into the kitchen. He was half-dressed; jeans and socks, his hair was damp and curling on his shoulders. He handed Chris the first aid kit he had carried from the bathroom. “Wrap me up, and let’s ride.” While Chris bandaged, Vin drank coffee and had a quick breakfast of bread with butter and honey. 

He didn’t speak during the drive to the hospital. The silence wasn’t unusual between them; neither man was much of a talker, but this quiet was filled with unspoken words; fear and hope mingling in an unsettled tension that small talk wouldn’t alleviate. 

Vin waited at the front of the medical center while Chris parked the Ram. He was in unfamiliar surroundings, and the bandages over his eyes made him feel conspicuous and clumsy. He stood to one side of the doors, aware that there were people coming and going, and wondering if they were all staring at him with pity and curiosity. He shrank further back against the brick wall and recalled other times when he had sought the shadows, hoping that no one would take notice of him. Usually they hadn’t -- at times he imagined he *was* invisible. The anonymity was both comforting and painful. He thought back to the Wellesville Children’s Home on visiting days, when folks would come and take a look at what was available. Good people who wanted a kid to share their lives, hard-eyed people looking for an extra pair of hands, and some who just got their rocks off by being *kind* to those less fortunate. They were the ones who pretended not to see him; that skinny, shabby kid shrinking in the corner of the room. Yeah, there must be something wrong with that one, they thought and walked away ...

“Vin?”

The light touch on his arm brought his own hands up defensively before he realized it was Chris. Ashamed, he dropped them back at his sides. “Sorry, ya startled me.” He felt a blush burning in his cheeks. “Sorry,” he repeated, and hated his voice for shaking.

Chris didn’t say a word. He didn’t take Vin’s arm, but led him by the pressure of his shoulder, guiding him when he needed it, but taking it slow and easy, until they reached Dr. Stone’s office. “You ready?” Chris asked.

Vin drew a deep breath. “Yeah. This is the easy part.”

Chris knew that wasn’t true, but at least Elizabeth Stone was a familiar presence. He wondered if Vin preferred being treated by a woman, if that touch was easier for him to bear than a man’s. It didn’t matter either way to Chris, but he’d never edured the abuse that Vin had at the hands of other men. Dr. Stone was an intelligent woman, and Chris knew when she treated Vin, she took extra care, seeming to know that he needed a softer voice and a gentler hand than most, and yet somehow managed not to smother him. She gave as good as she got from the smart-mouthed Texan, and for that, Chris was extremely grateful. Of course, she’d give him hell for slicing up his fingers, but that would be a distraction from the coming examination by Dr. Rheinhardt. 

Chris was right about that. When she saw the bandages on Vin’s fingers, she scowled fiercely. “Now what?” 

“It’s nothin’, doc. Jist a couple cuts and Chris fixed ‘em up good.”

“We’ll see. Come on back,” she sighed, and set her arm over Vin’s shoulder to guide him from the waiting room. Chris stayed behind to call Buck. He got voice mail, which didn’t surprise him, left a message and waited. It wasn’t long before Vin came out, followed by Dr. Stone.

“Well?” Chris asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure. Mind if I consult with the doctor?”

Dr. Stone laughed. “He’s fine, Chris. The shoulder wound is healing nicely. He should take it easy. You’re his boss. Make *sure* he does.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good job on his fingers, by the way.”

Vin snorted. “Don’t encourage him t’hang up his shingle, Doc.”

“Heavens no! With my luck, he’d end up being chief of medicine,” she smiled and patted him gently on the shoulder. “Let’s try to take a month off, Vin. I’d like to squeeze in a few weeks of vacation without being called back for an emergency.”

“Hell, Doc. I’m payin’ fer that vacation.” Vin gave Dr. Stone the warm, sweet smile that so few people saw. Her eyes softened and misted over, but her reply was as tart as ever. 

“Then go bother Dr. Rheinhardt. She could use a vacation, too.” She smiled at Chris, mouthed the words, *Take care,* and retreated back into her office.

Vin took a breath and released it. “Well, one down, one to go. Let’s git this over with.”

*******************  
They waited for nearly an hour for Dr. Rheinhardt to finish an emergency surgery; Vin growing more restless and tense by the minute. He sat next to Chris, his fingers drumming on the arms of the chair, then his knees; then his leg began a nervous jiggling that nearly drove Chris wild. There was no one else in the waiting room, and, finally, Chris caught Vin’s fingers in his, and settled them on Vin’s thigh, stilling that motion as well. Vin caught his breath in alarm, and Chris hushed him. “Easy. There’s no one else here. Just me.” 

“I know. Don’t need nobody else.” He straightened in his chair and gave Chris’s hand a brief squeeze before he released it. “Wish she’d get here, though.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell again. Vin slid down on his spine and folded his hands over his stomach. Chris thought if he were wearing that old slouch-brimmed hat he kept at the ranch, he’d tip it down over his eyes like a sure ‘nough cowboy. But his nerves seemed to have settled; either that, or he was disguising them well.

“Vin, I’m gonna step out and give Buck a call, see if there’s anything going on at the office.” 

“Sure. Ain’t like I got somewhere else t’be.”

Chris trailed a light finger across Vin’s lips. “I’ll be back.” He stood in the corridor and punched in Buck’s number. 

“Wilmington.”

“Where are you?”

“Didn’t we have this conversation already?”

“Buck ...” Chris warned. 

“If ya look up, you’ll see me walkin’ in the door, old son.” Buck’s laughter came from the phone and from the doorway. He waved his phone at Chris. “Hey there.” He sauntered over, his eyes glinting brightly. “Vin in with the doctor?”

“I hope so. She’s kept us waiting an hour.” When Buck’s brow shot up, Chris amended, “Emergency surgery.”

“Bet Junior’s about ready to climb the walls.”

“He’s all right.” Chris couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering back to the doctor’s office. “How’s work?”

“Deader n’ a doornail. Seems like all the crooks’ve scattered to the four winds.”

Chris gave him a grim smile. “They’ll be back.” He shook his head, seemed to bring himself back to what was most important. “I’m going back in.”

“Want some company?”

“Didn’t think you drove all this way to turn around and leave.” He was caught between relief at having Buck’s steadying presence at his side, and wondering how he would keep his feelings for Vin hidden from Buck’s sharp eyes. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d manage, and he *was* glad to have him there. The man was a rock, and the truest friend he’d had in his life. 

The waiting room was empty, and the receptionist looked out at them and smiled. “Mr. Tanner is with the doctor. He’ll be a while.” Chris caught Buck’s blue eyes kindle with interest for the pretty young woman. He laughed softly. “She’s wearing a ring, Buck. You’ll have to throw your line in elsewhere.”

“It never hurts to look. And speaking of looking ... how long’s it been since you went out on a date?”

Chris’s stomach burned. “Not as long as you think. I ain’t the kind to kiss and tell, you know that.”

“Well, all I know is it ain’t natural for a man to be alone.”

“Maybe it depends on the man, Buck.” Chris wondered what Buck would have said if he had asked in turn if it were any more natural for a man to be with another man?

“Sarah wouldn’t want --”

“Leave it, Buck.” Chris’s voice was flat and cold, and Buck subsided, knowing too well the end result of his temper. Chris shook his head. “I’m all right.”

“Yeah, well, if you ever decide you’re not, I’ve got some friends who would be mighty glad to cheer you up.”

“I’ll let you know.” Buck’s blue eyes were narrowed, but he nodded, accepting the answer for now. Relieved, Chris leaned forward, focusing on the door leading to the examination rooms. How long would this take? 

*******************  
Dr. Rheinhardt cut the gauze strips and carefully pulled the pads away from Vin’s eyes. His respiration was short and shallow, and she realized that this man, who was so skilled with deadly weapons, was terrified of *her*. She laid her hands over his where they rested on the arms of the examination chair. “Did that hurt?” she asked.

“No.”

“Good. Now do me a favor and relax. I’m not going to do anything that will hurt you, all right?”

Vin nodded. “Sure, Doc.”

“First, I’m going to shine a light in your eyes to take a look at your corneas and see if your pupils are reacting normally. It will be bright, but I want you to try to keep your eyes open. Ready?”

The intrusion of the beam from the ophthalmoscope made Vin shrink back and wince, but he held steady, and it was over quickly. “Good.” Dr. Rheinhardt turned off the light. “Very good. The swelling around your eyes is nearly gone, the burns are fading, and your corneas and pupils look good.”

“Do I need t’have the bandages on again?” Vin asked.

“No. But you will need dark glasses for a few more days. Your eyes will be pretty sensitive for a while yet. Now, let’s check out your vision. No more bright lights, just open your eyes.”

Vin swallowed the huge lump in his throat. He took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. For a moment, the lights swam in a myriad of rainbow colors. He blinked away the tears that blurred his vision. Dr. Rheinhardt gently blotted them with a tissue. “Don’t force it, you’ll adapt naturally,” she advised.

He closed his eyes, opened them again. He backed up against the chair and blinked. He saw a pretty, sharp-featured woman with grey hair and eyes, watching him with concern. Aside from a very slight blurring in his right eye, he could see her clearly. “Nice t’meet you, Dr. Rheinhardt.”

She smiled. “How is your vision?”

“Right eye’s a bit blurry.”

“Mmm. I’m not surprised. But from what I saw today, it will continue to heal. I think it will be 100 percent in a few days.”

“Good as new?”

“I’d say so. You are a very lucky young man. I want you to come back in a week for a final check-up.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Her eyes crinkled at his old-fashioned courtesy. She found his vulnerability touching, and she had been very glad that his prognosis was so excellent. She wouldn’t have wanted to face his formidable boss, Chris Larabee, with less than sanguine news. “Do you have sunglasses with you?”

“No, ma’am. Didn’t know that I’d need ‘em.”

She pulled a pair of disposable sunglasses from her desk. “These are temporary until you get a *good* pair -- none of those dimestore glasses.”

He grinned. “Ma’am, I’m a sharpshooter, I’ve got a pair, don’t worry.” He slid down from the chair. It felt good to be able to see, to orient himself visually, to feel normal again. He hooked the arms of the sunglasses over his ears, and with a nod of gratitude, went out into the waiting room. 

**********************

“Hell, I reckon you fellers give new meaning t’that sayin’, ‘a sight fer sore eyes.”

Chris’s head came up sharply, then as if pulled by marionette strings, the rest of his body followed, and the only thing that kept him from betraying every emotion filling his heart was Buck’s rowdy crow of laughter and those damned long legs of his that carried him across the floor before Chris could reach out to Vin.

“Junior! You c’n see?”

“You and that shit-eatin’ grin on yer face, Bucklin.”

“All right!” Buck clapped a hand on his shoulder and Vin yelped, making Buck back away with his hands held up in surrender. “Sorry, wrong shoulder.”

“Watch it ‘r I’ll sick Doc Stone on ya.” 

Buck actually paled. “Think I’ll head on back to the office, tell the others the good news.”

Vin laughed. “Ya cain’t run and ya cain’t hide.” 

Buck turned to Chris, still standing back out of the way, and caught an expression on his boss’ face that made him look away fast. The only other people who could bring that emotion to Chris had been Sarah and Adam. Somehow, Vin had found his way into the heart that Larabee had kept closed and guarded since their deaths. Buck didn’t know if he should be glad or worried. He didn’t know what the hell he should think, but right now he wanted to celebrate the restoration of Vin’s sight.

“Tell ya what. Why don’t we meet at Inez’s fer drinks? I’ll round up the rest of the team and we’ll make a night of it.”

Chris raised a brow. “Umm, I’ve taken sick time today, but I don’t recall filing any paperwork for the rest of you.”

“Hell, you’re the boss, Chris. Can’t ya just bend the rules a bit fer t’day?”

Chris looked at the toes of his boots, at Vin. The small shake of Tanner’s head told him all he needed to know. “Right now, I’m taking Vin back to his place. And if he’s feeling up to it, we’ll meet you at Inez’s later. I’ll call.”

His voice was even, pleasant, but there was that Larabee look in his eyes that would brook no argument. Buck tried to see past it, and couldn’t. “I’ll tell the team.” He held out his hand to Vin. “I’m real glad things worked out, Junior.”

“Thanks fer bein’ here, Buck.” Vin clasped his hand and gave it a brotherly shake.

“Hell, what was I supposed to do? Couldn’t stand sittin’ and staring at the phone; not t’mention JD boucin’ his pencil on the desktop over and over. That boy’s gonna drive us all wild one a’ these days.” He winked, tipped his hat, and ambled out of the office.

Vin felt Chris’s hand rest on his shoulder, and he turned to him. “Nice t’see you, cowboy.”

“Let’s go home,” Chris said. 

************************  
 **Part Six**

 

Funny what a couple days of not being able to see at all did for what you noticed when you could see, Vin thought during the drive back to his place. Even through the dark lenses of the sunglasses, colors and the shift of light and shadow seemed more pronounced. Watching other drivers, people walking down the sidewalks, the graffiti scrawled on the brick walls in colorful mosaics that belied the messages the gangs hid behind the graphics. Purgatorio hadn’t changed since he’d left for work that last time before his injury; hadn’t changed in twenty years, and wouldn’t likely change in another twenty, but it looked different, nonetheless. 

“So, how’s it look, partner?”

Larabee was reading his mind again. Vin cocked his head, regarded Chris. “Maybe I’m seein’ things with fresh eyes, but it still ain’t gonna win any beauty contests.”

Chris slanted a smile at him and set his hand over Vin’s where it rested on the leather seat between them. Vin threaded his fingers through Chris’s. “There’s other things I’d rather be lookin’ at,” he sighed and set his head against the back of the seat, still turned towards Chris, but his eyes unreadable behind the dark glasses.

Chris wheeled the Ram into a parking place on the street. They got out, and Vin stretched a bit, bending the kinks out of his back. The release of tension was beginning to hit him, and he felt lightheaded, as if the only thing that had been holding him steady was the uncertainty of his eyesight. 

“Vin?” Chris tapped his shoulder, and he realized he had been standing there, staring at nothing. “You all right?”

Vin rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Daydreamin’ I guess.” He followed Chris inside and up the stairs. Sighted now, he wouldn’t take the elevator, which oddly hadn’t bothered him when his eyes had been bandaged.

Chris wrestled with the locks, opened the door, and Vin stepped inside. Home. Shabby, inconvenient, at times downright dangerous, but home nonetheless. He went to the tall windows and looked out. Wasn’t a bad view -- on a good day you could see the mountains in the distance and the sprawl of the city all around. 

Chris stood behind him, so close that when he breathed, his body brushed Vin’s. He reached over to tug the shade down, then set his hands on Vin’s shoulders, turning him. The light filtered through the translucent ivory shade bathing the room in a glow Michelangelo couldn’t tint to match. Chris gently pulled Vin’s sunglasses off. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he said.

Vin’s eyes were open, clear but for the slight irritation in the right one. The swelling was gone, and only the reddened skin above his cheekbones remained from the chemical burns. It could have been so much worse, Chris thought, and guilt turned again. Vin saw it ghosting through his eyes, and shook his head. 

“You c’n carry that with ya fer the rest of your life, Chris, or ya can let it go right now, if you want me t’stick around.”

The choice was easier than he deserved. 

Vin saw the weight leave him; saw guilt shift and passion kindle. Smiling, he slid his arm around Chris’s lean waist and pulled him close. “I always said ya were smart, cowboy.”

“I feel slow,” Chris whispered, his lips teasing Vin’s, and the flare of desire in those blue eyes took his breath away. His arms wrapped around Tanner’s slim body and their mouths met, brushed, then clung. Their tongues twined and tangled in an intimate dance, and the temperature in the room seemed to shoot up twenty degrees. Then they were at buttons and buckles; quick, fumbling, somehow managing to find their way to the bedroom without losing physical contact. Lips, hands, a pause for a kiss; then they were on Vin’s bed, and stripped. 

Breathing hard, Chris raised himself over Vin and looked down at him. Tanner’s hair was tangled over the pillows, his blue eyes narrowed and dark with arousal. He brought his hand up and ran his fingers over Chris’s mouth, down the length of his throat, then back up to brush through the fall of blond hair over his forehead.

“I’s afraid I wasn’t gonna see this ever again,” he breathed. “Was afraid I’d fergit what ya look like ... “

“I’d have been here.” Chris ran a finger slowly down Vin’s body, from the notch of his collarbone to the shallow dip of his naval. “And here ...” His lips followed the trail of warmth. “And here.” Breath whispered across his groin and Vin gasped. His fingers threaded through Chris’s hair, and dreamlike, he waited, breathing softly.

Chris drew in the scent of Vin’s body, of the sweet, musky warmth of sex. The veins below the skin pulsed faintly against his cheek. Vin moved, his cock brushing against Chris’s cheek, and Larabee took that invitation. His mouth closed over the head and he tongued the sensitive slit, tasting the salty, rich fluid gathering there. He swallowed, and Vin made a strangled sound in his throat. Chris pressed his tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock. Vin’s hips thrust upwards, and Chris, smiling to himself, sucked and took Vin deep. He worked the shaft with his mouth and teased Vin’s sac with his fingers, loving the sounds he wrung from his normally quiescent lover. 

A flush of heat spread from Vin’s groin, sweat misted his skin. God, Larabee was so good! His mouth, his tongue, perfect; and Vin was just sore and tired enough to let Chris carry him as far as he could without bringing him to climax. Chris released him to find the lube and slick up his hand. Long, strong fingers slid between Vin’s ass cheeks, rimmed him. Vin sank down into that touch, felt Chris’s finger penetrate gently, firmly, and when Larabee hit his gland, and his mouth worked him just right, Vin gave up everything. 

Chris drank down Vin’s cum, held his cock in his mouth until the flesh softened, and released him with a sigh. His own body was thrumming like the strings of a guitar, aching for his own release, yet waiting for Vin to drift back from where his passion had carried him. 

Vin opened dreamy eyes, saw Chris looking down at him, warm and smiling, but with a look about him that was hard, predatory, and expectant. Vin knew that look, knew what it meant. It sent a shiver up his spine, and kindled a fire in him to satisfy the need in this man he loved. He set a palm on Chris’s shoulder and forced him back on the pillows. 

Chris’s eyes glittered. The sunlight coming through the blinds laid stripes along his body, tawny gold and shadowy blue, rippling across his muscles, moving like living water when he breathed. Awed, Vin stroked firm hands down to Chris’s pelvis. His fingers swirled through the rough curls surrounding his sex. Chris shivered, and the light on his skin trembled like it was sifting through aspen leaves stirred by the wind. Lord, he could have learned to live without this, learned to love with his hands and mind, but never to see this again would break his heart.

Vin closed his fingers over Chris’s cock and watched his lover arch into that touch. He slicked the pearl of semen over the head, and the skin gleamed as a warm band of light shifted across the flushed surface. Chris was writhing, his fingers gathering the blankets into his fists, his features taut as he concentrated on every sensation that poured through him. Vin’s cock was hard again, hot. He fumbled for the lube, found it, coated his hand and his shaft, then wrapped his fingers around Chris, pumping him until Chris’s hips jerked up convulsively. Vin’s fingers worked the rim of muscle at Chris’s hole, slid in the relaxed ring and stretched it. He was burning; breathless enough to match Chris, beyond patience. His cock was slick, Chris was loosened and ready. Vin slid inside and Chris cried out, not in pain, but in welcome. Their bodies found their rhythms. Vin’s left hand twined fingers with Chris’s, his right stroked and pumped his cock, his body surged hard and fast. Light and dark, sensation, breath, and life swirled into an overwhelming climax. They rose to the pinnacle of sensation together, they fell together, and drifted back to the world, together.

Chris slept, and Vin, though awake, lay close to him, on his stomach, his arm thrown across Chris’s chest. His head was turned towards Chris. That restless, impatient man was so seldom still, that to be there with him like this was a gift to be savored. Vin watched him through a veil of his own hair, warmed and iridescent in the sunlight. The rainbows were dazzling, and he marveled at the colors; at the shift of the spectrum as the strands were stirred by breath and currents of air. He was still for a long time, just studying his lover, until the growing ache in his shoulder made him cautiously shift his position. 

Even that slight movement roused Larabee. He stretched and reached out a long arm to gather Vin close. “Come here often, cowboy?”

“Every time.” Vin’s grin lit his face. “Ya ought ta be able t’figure that out, seein’ as yer so smart.”

Chris laughed through a wide yawn. “What time is it?”

“’Bout four, I reckon.”

Chris knew he meant that literally. Vin *reckoned*, not often needing a clock, as if light and shadows were enough to tell the time. Another loss avoided. A line of pain drew across Chris’s heart, quick and fleeting, then gone. “I guess we’d better clean up and get ourselves over to Inez’s for Buck’s celebration.”

They showered and dressed, Chris borrowing a plain dark shirt from Vin, which fit him since Vin liked them long and loose. Vin leaned against the wall and watched him as he tucked it in his jeans. “Looks good on ya.” Seeing Chris wearing his shirt gave him a warm stir in his groin, and Larabee, catching that glimpse of heat in his eyes, grinned into the mirror.

“Save it. We don’t have time.”

“Got time fer this.” Vin pushed himself off the wall and prowled over to Chris. He hooked an arm around his waist and pulled him close enough to kiss. He loved the taste of Chris, the shape and firmness of his lips. He loved the sleek form of him, the strong curve of muscle and bone; broad shoulders, and narrow hips, the press of his thighs. 

He wanted it to be like this more often than it was; just him and Chris, together. Maybe he was just being greedy, maybe he was asking too much. He hadn’t had much in his life. Had lost more than he’d owned, been hurt more than he cared to remember. Here, in Chris’s arms, he had everything he’d ever need for eternity.

He sighed, backed away a bit, not realizing that so much of his thoughts had been in his kiss, until Chris’s hand slid to the nape of his neck and held him there. “You want me to call Buck and tell him we’re not coming?” he asked, his green eyes grave.

It was a temptation. Vin sighed. “Nah, Buck’s countin’ on us bein’ there.”

“Then we’d better get going.” Chris combed his fingers through Vin’s hair, kissed him once, lightly, then stepped away. “Just kick me when you’re ready to leave.”

“Jist don’t fergit ya told me that.” He bumped his hip playfully against Chris’s as they left he apartment, and Chris felt another shackle of guilt drop away.

**********************  
 **Part Seven**

 

Inez Recillos was used to the sight of the seven men gathered around two tables shoved together, used to the sounds of mirth that rang from that part of the room. When they weren’t there, the place seemed empty even when all the tables were filled. 

Their laughter ranged from JD’s boyish shout, to Josiah and Nathan’s deep-throated chuckles, and Buck Wilmington’s full, rich, masculine laugh. Ezra tended to wry commentary rather than vocal amusement, while Chris and Vin were nearly silent, with only their eyes reflecting their thoughts. 

It was good to have them all there. Buck and JD had been in last night and had told her about Vin’s injuries, and she had gone home and prayed that God would love him enough to heal him. Looking at the light in those beautiful blue eyes, she couldn’t imagine a more cruel fate than that they should be sightless and dark. And the answering light in Chris Larabee’s told her more than anything else that Vin would be all right.

She loaded up her tray with six glasses of beer and one red wine, and carried it over to the table. “Gentlemen, this round’s on the house.” She set the tray down, stood next to Vin, and ruffled his hair. “And yours are free all night.”

“Now, sweetheart, that ain’t fair,” Buck protested. “Junior here, never drinks more’n three in an evenin’ and seein’ as he just got out a’ the hospital, he shouldn’t indulge --”

“Y’oughtta be ashamed, Bucklin, angling fer my drinks,” Vin said and slapped Buck’s hand away from his mug. “Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with m’sight, so hands off.”

“I was just helpin’ Inez pass things around,” Buck protested. Instead of grabbing another mug, he reached for Inez’s hand. 

JD giggled. “Looks more like you’re making a pass, than making *to* pass, Buck!”

Inez snatched her fingers away, Buck’s hand closed on air, and JD laughed so hard that tears ran down his face. 

Vin laughed, too; nearly silently, his arm tight against his ribs. He slouched down on the bench seat, his right thigh pressed against Chris’s, feeling the warm strength of it setting his nerves to humming. He looked at the men gathered around him; brothers and friends, strong and steady. He thought of all the times they had been there for him, watching his back. How often Buck had shored him up with laughter and courage. And JD, armed more often with a laptop than a gun, and nearly as deadly with his weapon of choice as Vin was with his. Josiah, watching his soul, and Nathan his body. And Ezra, casual about his own bravery, but with more grit than anyone suspected. He was absurdly happy to be there with them, getting more of a buzz from their presence than from the beer in front of him.

Buck recovered enough of his dignity to pass around the drinks, and Ezra stood up, his glass of Cabernet in hand. “Seeing as I have been elected official toastmaster of this fete, I would ask you all to take up your glasses and drink to the recovery of our sharpshooter, our teammate, our friend. Lord, I don’t care to imagine what we would have done without the ameliorating effect his presence has on the combustible temperament of our fearless leader. To Mr. Tanner -- to Vin.”

The others raised their mugs, and Vin’s cheeks burned and his eyes teared. He coughed, hoping that would cover his embarrassment. He felt the steady pressure of Chris’s leg, and the quick, encouraging squeeze of his fingers beneath the table. He took a breath, set both hands on the table and stood up. “Thanks, Ez. Didn’t understand more’n half a’ the words, but I reckon I got the jist of it. Y’all ‘re everything ya said, and more t’me. And seein’ as you’re my teammates and ... friends ... Least I could do is not t’leave ya t’deal with Larabee alone.” He ducked his head and sat back down, listening to the laughter, to Chris’s protest that he was not all *that* hot-tempered and impatient, which made everyone come up with at least one example illustrating that he was.

Inez brought a second round of drinks, and Vin sipped his slowly and sat in silence, as if his speech had used up all the words he had that evening. He put his dark glasses on to shield his eyes and let himself drift into a half-doze. 

Josiah was the first to leave since he was taking the night shift at the shelter where he volunteered, and Nathan left soon after to pick Rain up from the hospital after work. JD got a phone call from Casey that sent him off in a hurry, and Ezra drank his wine, excused himself and went wherever Ezra went after hours, leaving Chris and Buck to reminisce over old cases, old days, and old times.

Somewhere between the drinks and the stories, Chris realized that the silence from Vin was approaching deafening. He lifted the rim of his sunglasses, saw the long lashes closed and the face peaceful. He smiled, set down his glass. “I think the guest of honor needs to go home.”

“All those free drinks wasted,” Buck said regretfully. “You want some help?”

“Nah, piece of cake.” Chris shook Vin’s shoulder. “Hey, cowboy. Rise n’shine.”

“What?” Vin pushed himself upright from his slouch, and pushed the dark glasses up his nose. “Last call, already?”

“Last call for you, partner. C’mon, before you drift off again.”

“I’m awake,” he protested. 

“Yeah, right. You sure you don’t want me t’come with ya, Chris? Help ya carry Junior up all them stairs?”

“Don’t need carryin’, Bucklin,” Vin said crossly. He stood up, swayed on his feet, felt Chris’s arm come around his waist. Aware that Buck was watching, and that the man might be occasionally blind, but never stupid, he pulled away from Chris. “Thanks, guess it’s the beer goin’ t’my knees.”

“In that case ya might reconsider my offer,” Buck grinned. He laid his arm over Vin’s shoulders. “Least let me help ya out to the truck. I reckon I’m goin’ yer way.”

Vin didn’t need the support, but he walked out to the Ram with Chris on one side and Buck on the other. Friends did for friends, that’s what his grandpa had always told him, and he’d learned to value that advice. You didn’t take friendship lightly, or slap aside an open hand. When they reached the truck, Vin paused with one foot on the running board. “Thanks fer givin’ up yer Friday night date, Buck. I owe ya.”

A wide, white smile lit Buck’s face. “Shoot, who said I was givin’ anything up? And I owe you a hell of a lot more than a Friday night beer. You take care, Junior.” He waited as Vin hauled himself up into the Ram, then closed the door and gave it a slap. “See ya on Monday.” He snapped a salute to Chris, and ambled off towards his own truck. 

Chris watched Buck until he vanished into a pool of shadow. He turned the key and the Ram roared to life. Vin turned his head towards Chris. “Someday he’s gonna figure this all out. You know that?”

Chris sighed. “I know. But not tonight. And I don’t intend to worry about it.” He put the truck into gear and started driving. When they got to the intersection he stopped and gave Vin a look “We have a choice. I can drive us both out to the ranch, or I can take you home. Your call.”

Vin figured that as much as he wanted to be with Chris, Larabee might prefer a night in his own bed, away from Purgatorio. “It’s late,” he said, as if that were an answer to the question.

Chris thought it was. He made the turn towards Purgatorio. When he pulled up in front of the apartment building, Vin set his hand on the door handle, but paused there. “You coming up?” he asked.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “I thought I might.”

“I hate t’keep you away from the ranch. You’ve been here for a couple days now.”

“Things’ll keep. I called the neighbors to take care of the horses, and the house sure doesn’t need me there.” Chris reached across to stroke Vin’s cheek. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

Vin drew a deep breath. “I want you to stay.”

“Good, because I sure as hell didn’t want to drive for another hour tonight.” He turned off the ignition. “All you ever have to do is ask, Vin.”

He turned to Chris, pale in the light of the street lamp. Chris was watching him with nothing but tenderness and comprehension in his green eyes. “I ain’t used to askin’ I guess,” he said softly. 

Because if he didn’t ask, he wouldn’t be rejected, Chris thought angrily. Pride could only take so much, and Vin had chosen to hang on to dignity rather than be reduced to begging. “Ask me,” Chris said.

Vin’s shoulders lifted as he inhaled like he was about to dive into deep water. He turned to Chris, the streetlights shadowing his features. “Will ya stay the night, Chris?” The breath of the question lingered.

Chris smiled. “Tonight ... always. As long as you want me around.” Their hands clasped, warm, firm, strong. 

Vin’s mouth curved in that twist of a smile that could heat Chris up faster than a striking match. “Guess I c’n get used to that.” He nodded once, and knew Chris understood without fancy words, how much it meant to him. 

**********************

**Epilogue**

Timing was everything. The day, the weather, the phases of the moon, the company he kept. And when it was perfect, it was ... perfect. Chris had waited for this, prayed that everything would work in concert when he needed it, and was still amazed that it had.

He guided Pony along the trail he had chosen, Vin riding on Peso, behind him. The trail was off a shared access with his neighbor’s land, and it had been a long time since he’d ridden there, and never with Vin. There were things he wanted Vin to see, and had put off for so long that it had nearly been too late. 

He reined Pony to a standstill in the cool light of the full moon, waiting for Vin and Peso to catch up to him. The gelding had decided that he was going to take his own sweet time getting there, and Vin wasn’t disinclined to let him. Chris watched their approach; Vin slim and easy as he rode, Peso jittery as always, but held in check by Tanner’s skill. Chris loved to watch Vin ride. He had always considered himself a good horseman, but he’d had to work at it, while Vin looked as if he had been born to the saddle. 

Vin slowed Peso, leaned on his saddle horn, and fixed Chris with brilliant eyes. “We there yet?”

“Gettin’ impatient?”

“Gettin’ mighty curious is all.”

“It’s not far now.” Chris took the bandanna off his neck. “You trust me?”

“You have ta ask?”

“For this, yes. Lean forward.” Vin did so without hesitation, and Chris held out the bandanna. “Will you let me blindfold you?”

Vin’s eyes opened wide at that, but he didn’t say a word, and he didn’t draw back. Chris tied the blindfold over Vin’s eyes, careful not to catch his hair in the loose knot. He took Peso’s reins from Vin, and with Vin controlling Peso with pressure from thighs and knees, urged Pony forward. 

As much as he trusted Chris, Vin felt his stomach tighten and clench with nerves as they moved up the trail. He could not help recalling the days spent in the dark without knowing if he would see again. Chris had been guiding him then, as he was now. And Vin chose to follow.

They halted, Chris clearly taking him to a specific position. Vin could swear he felt the weight of the moonlight on his face, cool and silvery as running water. Chris’s fingers were untying the knot. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. The bandanna was whisked away. “Now.”

Vin opened his eyes. 

The moonlight washed over the landscape spread before him; a glittering silver ribbon of a stream wound its way through a sea of green and gilt grasses stirring in the light, and the whole setting cradled in the dark arms of the mountains. Overhead, the stars were spread like a jewelled net cast across the midnight sky.

Vin gasped, his eyes drinking in that beauty. It was as if it existed only for him and Chris, and then he realized that Chris had planned this gift for him, knowing that his thirsty soul would drink in the sight, and be refreshed.

If Vin was transfixed, Chris was held spellbound by his lover’s reaction. Vin’s lips were slightly parted in wonder, and he was so still, as if he were afraid to move lest the view ripple and disappear like a reflection in water. His eyes were wide, mirroring the light and color of the sky and stars. Chris backed Pony away from Peso, dismounted and left Vin to marvel in peace. He pulled a blanket from the back of his saddle, spread it, and sat against a tree trunk 

Vin and Peso seemed to be carved out of ebony; but for the swish of the gelding’s tail and the drift of Vin’s hair in the breeze. Chris lighted a cheroot and settled in to wait for Vin to look his fill. It took a while, but he didn’t mind. He let some of the peace soak into his own soul, felt it ease the ache and worry he’d been carrying around. Vin’s eyes had healed, his sight was restored to better than perfect acuity. Chris had watched him shoot on the range the other day and had been awed and relieved at his skill. And though Vin had absolved him of any guilt, it had been slow to let go until he was certain no permanent damage had been inflicted.

Sitting on Peso, dazzled by the scene before him, and slaking his thirst for nature’s beauty, the time passed Vin unawares until Peso grew weary of this game and tossed his head, breaking the fragile spell. Vin fondled the gelding’s ears, pulled out a piece of molasses cookie from his pocket and slid from the saddle. Peso swung his head around, nuzzling for the treat that he could smell, and Vin laughed, finally offering it to him. Still smiling, he walked Peso over to the tree where Pony was tethered before he sank down on the ground next to Chris. He half reclined, looking up at Larabee, and wishing he had a gift for the spoken word. He went for simple. “Thanks, Chris,” he said and fell silent. He didn’t know what else to say. 

“You’re welcome,” Chris replied. His eyes were dreamy in the moonlight, dark pupils and pale jade irises slightly blurred with emotion. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect time to show you this ... and tonight, it finally happened.”

Vin sighed. “It’s perfect, all right. I c’n only think of one thing t’make it better.”

“What?”

“This --” Vin reached up and pulled Chris down next to him. He brought his lips to Larabee’s. His tongue swept along Chris’s lower lip, teased the inner curl, then plunged deep; the tang of tobacco and the taste of Chris mingling in an intoxicating blend. He broke away and opened his eyes. There was always a pause -- that moment before either of them committed to lovemaking; blue eyes locked into green, reading every nuance and every emotion -- when Vin felt like he was in a long free fall. Then Chris touched him, and he soared.

The night air was the temperature of warm milk on his skin, and he couldn’t object when Chris unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. Larabee’s hands were warmer than the air, his breath warmer than his hands, and the play of his lips across Vin’s body was like the touch of fire. He teased nipples into taut buds, suckled on them, and the fire spread through Vin’s body. 

He started to reach for Chris, but his wrists were caught and held immobile by strong but gentle fingers. Vin’s eyes flew open, met Chris’s intense green gaze. Larabee shook his head. “This is all mine, partner.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t argue.” And then forestalled any attempt by claiming Vin’s mouth with a deep kiss. 

Vin shivered as Chris turned his attention to his outstretched arms, raining soft kisses along the tender flesh of his inner arm, then crying out softly as teeth nipped and cooling breath soothed the small bites. Then those maddening lips were whispering along his collarbone and up his throat to the square angle of his jaw, pausing at the pulse of the big veins before moving downwards past the notch of his clavicle, his breastbone, the hard flesh of his belly. Chris released one wrist and flipped the button on Tanner’s jeans. He slowly pulled the zipper down over his hardening erection, opened the fly of his boxers, and swirled his tongue around the moist head of his cock.

“Cain’t breathe,” Vin groaned. “Cain’t think.”

“Don’t want you t’think,” Chris whispered thickly. “Keep breathin’, though.”

“Fuck you,” Vin gasped and writhed as Chris’s tongue made another pass over his flesh.

“Uh-uh. I’m fucking you.” 

The rough promise in that voice made Vin reach down to hold Larabee close. “Do it,” he said.

Chris smiled and turned all his attention to pleasuring his lover. 

Vin thought he might die of it, but he’d die a happy man. Kisses, soft and tender, hard and hot. Fingers caressing, warm breath blowing across his skin, the start of sweat, Chris’s brilliant eyes watching him. The sweetness of being taken into his mouth, the length of him laved and suckled, swallowed. And then fingers slick with semen entered him, stroking his gland until he shivered and shook, finally letting himself be carried away. He cried out, his spine arched, and he filled Chris’s mouth with the salty richness of his cum. 

Chris drank him down until he was empty and soft, then kissed his way back up to Vin’s mouth. “Still breathing?” he asked. 

“Hell, yer lucky I’m still alive, Larabee,” Vin drawled. His voice was hoarse, trembling a bit. “But y’ain’t fucked me yet.”

Chris laughed, a low, throaty rasp of a chuckle. “Not yet,” and he felt Vin shiver as he began his second assault.

He stripped Tanner, then himself. The air was just cooling faintly, and he stretched out over Vin, long and warm and hard. He worked his hips, rubbing his cock against Vin’s, the sensual movement bringing Vin to hardness again, quickly, and sending shocks of pain and pleasure ripping through his own flesh. Vin’s hands were on his ass, holding him tight. Chris’s cock was hard and full, throbbing and leaking.

Vin worked his fingers between their bodies and closed them around Chris’s shaft. He stroked and milked, bringing Chris near to climax, and when his fingers were moistened, he slid them between Chris’s ass cheeks, found the ring of muscle, and massaged it, felt it relax and yield to his fingers. Sweat gathered and slid down the lean plane of Chris’s face, dropped glittering on Vin’s throat. When his fingers penetrated Chris and brushed over his prostate, Larabee stilled, the shock of pleasure darkening his eyes. He shuddered, but didn’t come; felt the muscles in his thighs and back tighten and throb with mounting pleasure.

“Stop,” he said. He lowered his head, his lips just brushing Vin’s. “I want to be inside of you, a part of you.”

Vin withdrew his fingers, raised his hips and spread his legs, waiting; open and trusting. Chris moistened his fingers with the mingled cum from their cocks, slid them carefully into Vin’s hole and stretched the muscle. It didn’t take much to loosen him, and he was thrusting against Chris’s fingers, his mouth working in a soundless plea. Chris paused, his breath taken by the sight of Vin in the moonlight, his skin glistening with sweat, the swales and hollows of his body shadowed by the cool illumination and by the leaves shifting overhead. 

“Chris ...” 

He touched Vin’s cheek, and those blue, blue eyes entreated him for release. He pushed inside Vin’s body, and cried out as the sweet, hot flesh closed around him, tight and throbbing. He withdrew slightly, leaving the head of his shaft embedded in that channel, then slid back in. He stroked in, establishing a strong rhythm, feeling Vin rise to meet him, flesh against flesh, harder and faster. Chris took hold of Vin’s sex, pumped him, his cock raking against Vin’s pleasure spot. It was all instinct now ... hearts and minds swept away on a tide of blood, heartbeat, passion, and love. 

The wave broke. Vin went rigid, and then climaxed, his seed pouring out over Chris’s hand and belly. Chris shot hot and fast, deep into Vin in an orgasm so intense that it overwhelmed him, and he wept. 

He wasn’t aware of the tears until he tasted them on his lips. His head was resting on Vin’s abdomen; the skin cool beneath his cheek, the breath of him slowing, but steady. The beat of his heart pulsing gently. His fingers were moving idly through Chris’s hair. Chris sighed and pushed himself up to bring his head level with Tanner’s.

Vin was watching him with faint amusement and the warmth of love. “Y’all right, old man?”

Chris snorted. “This *old man* had ya yowling not five minutes ago.”

Vin laughed. “I ain’t complainin’.” A sigh left his lips. “Lord, Chris. Times are, I think I’m gonna die in yer arms.”

“Then I reckon I’m gonna die right along with you.” Chris stroked his knuckles down Vin’s cheek. 

Vin turned to that caress, caught Chris’s fingers and brought them to his lips. “When I’s blind, I was most afraid of never seein’ you again. It was so dark ... dark and empty and cold. But then you were there, and I wasn’t afraid. Was like ya’d lit a candle, and even though I couldn’t see it, I knew it was burnin’... could see that flame, feel the warmth, and I knew I wasn’t alone. No matter how long the night was, you would stay right there and hold it back fer me.”

Chris swallowed against the ache in his throat. “You remember that, partner.”

“S’long as you keep remindin’ me.” A quick, tender kiss before he sat up, reached for his jeans, and shoved Chris’s clothes towards him. The clear night was bringing cooler air, and the goose flesh was rising on his arms. He wondered if he could convince Chris to light a fire when they got back to the ranch. 

They dressed, collected Peso and Pony, and rode slowly back home. As they reined in at the barn, Vin looked up at the moon and the stars. He’d every right to fear the night, knew too well the monsters that haunted it. But he also knew that no matter how dark it was, the stars were always overhead, even when you couldn’t see ‘em through the clouds. That was Chris. And his nights would never be so dark again.

The End


End file.
